


Frozen Sun

by errihu



Series: Dead Moon and Frozen Sun [2]
Category: Bleach, World of Warcraft
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grimmjow goes to Azeroth, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, in another world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 73,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errihu/pseuds/errihu
Summary: Fed up with Aizen's nest of lies and treachery, Vellena takes her ball and goes home. With Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez in Azeroth, the world will never be the same. Sequel to Dead Moon.





	1. Strange Awakenings

It was the thirst that finally woke him. His eyes were sticky; he rubbed crusty sleep from them and cracked them open. Pain surged in his head as the world came into focus. He was slightly surprised that he could feel pain – after all, wasn't he dead? The last thing he clearly remembered was that huge shinigami with the ungodly powerful reiatsu join Kurosaki in watching Vellena go balls-out on Nnoitra. He'd been pretty sure that if he closed his eyes, it would be the last time; and somewhere along the way he'd finally passed out. That should have been it, right?

Wherever he was, it wasn't Las Noches. There was a distinct lack of sand, blue sky, or the colour white. He didn't think it was Soul Society either. Hell, he didn't know what happened to arrancar when they died. Did they go to Soul Society if a shinigami killed them? Did he actually have to _die_ right there on some shinigami's zanpakutō, or did he just have to take a lethal wound for it to count? Come to think of it, did an arrancar's zanpakutō count? Did he die from Kurosaki, or from Nnoitra? Shit, this train of thought was pointless. He was dead, or he wasn't; and wherever he'd ended up, he was still Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

Groaning, he sat up, one hand on his forehead. Once he'd massaged away some of the pain, he began to look around. Yeah this was definitely nowhere in Las Noches, and nowhere he'd seen in Hueco Mundo, or the world of the living. Black stone surrounded him, worked into oppressive architecture, a dark and windowless room. Bluish flames that appeared to give off no heat flickered in torches set into the walls and in a large brazier by a closed door. A faint smell of death permeated the air.

He was in a room roughly the same size as his Espada bed chamber, lying (well, sitting now) in a largish bed with that air of 'standard issue' about it. A nondescript gray wool blanket covered his legs, bunched around his waist where it had slid down when he sat up. Oh, wait – there was something white, after all. His hakama and jacket were folded neatly but incorrectly on a three-legged stool, Pantera sheathed and laid atop them. Curious at the sight of his clothes not on his body, he checked himself. Yep, naked except for his fundoshi, and a bunch of weird blue bandages.

Well, if he needed bandages, then he couldn't be dead, right? But he still didn't know where he was.

"Guest awake?" an odd, gurgling voice inquired. Grimmjow's head swung towards the sound as he attempted to locate the speaker. Beside and slightly behind the brazier was a hunched figure he hadn't noticed originally. It appeared to be… a half-rotted, animate corpse… Grimmjow eyed it dubiously.

"Guest awake?" it said again, taking a few shambling steps towards him. Grimmjow caught a whiff of that dead smell coming off it. It reached out towards him "Guest awake?"

Grimmjow recoiled, then instantly regretted it when everything ached. "Fuck, I'm awake, I'm awake, don't fucking touch me!" he shouted. The grisly hand dropped.

"Guest awake. Go tell Master. Guest awake," the thing muttered, turning around and lurching to the door. Grimmjow watched it as it opened the door and shambled out of the room, closing the door behind him. What the hell?

Well, someone would probably be along soon. Maybe it was foolish, but he kind of didn't want to meet whoever 'Master' was in his underwear. He got to his feet, ignoring the pain of half-healed wounds and abused muscles, and went to his clothes. He'd just finished sliding Pantera into his sash when the door opened again.

The figure that appeared in the doorway was large and heavily armoured, in a style that seemed vaguely familiar. The hilt of a huge sword protruded from his back. Blonde hair hung limply around a masculine face, lit with glowing blue eyes. He radiated a deadly energy that was also familiar – it was very like Vellena's.

"Ah," said the newcomer, his voice carrying that same tortured-metal tone he'd come to associate with Vellena, "Knight Nightwind's mysterious companion has finally risen. Welcome back to the land of the living," the large man said the last word with an ironic, sarcastic inflection. Grimmjow held his face frozen at hearing 'Knight Nightwind'. 'Nightnightwind'? _Seriously?_ Did he just _say_ that? He was _so_ going to laugh at Vellena when he caught up with her again. She had to be around here somewhere. The guy was speaking again, though. "I am Highlord Darion Mograine. Who might you be, stranger?"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Sexto Espa… uh… this ain't Hueco Mundo, is it?" he finished lamely.

Glowing blue eyes stared impassively at him. "No. This is Acherus, the Ebon Hold. I have never heard of Hueco Mundo, until Knight Nightwind spoke of it. No one here has. You're in Azeroth, a few hundred feet above what's left of the Scarlet Enclave."

Well damn. Wasn't that where Vellena was from? How the hell did he get _here_? …No wonder the armour looked so familiar – the guy was probably a Death Knight. The head honcho, by the sounds of it. "Well I guess my rank doesn't matter here, but I was the, uh… the sixth, back home."

"I see. Sixth Jaegerjaquez, I will be asking you more questions later. But first… Ghoul!" the Highlord barked, turning his head down to look beside him. Grimmjow saw the ambulatory corpse from before.

"Master?" it gurgled, sounding almost cheerful.

"Ghoul, fetch Knight Nightwind. Be quick about it."

"Yes, Master!" It turned and dashed off, hands swinging at its side as it ran.

"Please be seated, Sixth Jaegerjaquez. You have not fully recovered from your wounds," Mograine said.

He didn't really want to sit on the bed – this guy seemed so… formal. And while he wasn't normally one to kowtow to authority, well, he was injured and alone in another world, and he only knew one other person here. Granted, she seemed to be on decent terms with the boss. He sat on the stool, stolidly ignoring the aching of his abused body.

"I apologize for your lack of medical attention. Acherus is not exactly known for its healthful atmosphere. Fortunately, it seems that some techniques that help keep us undead together work on you, or you would be a lot worse off right now," grated Mograine.

"It's no problem," replied Grimmjow. "I made it this far, I'll heal." He was pretty sure of that. "I could, uh, use some water though, if you have some."

Mograine stiffened briefly, giving him an unreadable look. "Of course. How foolish of me not to inquire as to your needs. You _are_ our guest, after all." He sounded slightly annoyed at his own lapse in hospitality. Grimmjow didn't mind though, he got the feeling that this guy didn't do a lot of entertaining.

Grimmjow perked as he felt the approach of a familiar presence.

"Ah, here is Knight Nightwind now." Grimmjow squelched a smirk as the huge man turned to the corridor. "Come in, Knight. Your guest has awoken. Ghoul! Fetch water, and don't spill any!"

The arrancar had to fight to keep the smirk from breaking out as he heard the muffled reply of the ghoul – "Master? Yes Master!" Did these guys realize how unintentionally funny they were? Then he smiled, a real smile, as he caught sight of Vellena. She wasn't in her armour, or the arrancar uniform he'd seen her in last – instead she was wearing something that resembled the padded clothes she usually wore under her armour. She had her twin swords strapped to her belt – her favourite weapons. He thought they sucked, but hey, it wasn't him who had to use them.

"Grimmjow," she said, her voice at once hesitant yet relieved. He'd spent enough time with her to read beneath her emotionless mask – she was nervous.

"Hey, Vellena. Glad to see you're alive," he said. The nervousness lessened. Did she think he was mad or something?

"I can see you two have things you need to talk about. I will speak with you and with Sixth Jaegerjaquez later," Mograine stated, turning from the room. The door slid shut behind him. Nevertheless, Grimmjow still heard him bellow "Not to _me_, you idiot ghoul, to the _guest_!"

He couldn't help it, he laughed, only to laugh harder at Vellena's bewildered and concerned expression. He finally had to stop when it became too painful.

"Are you alright?" the night elf asked him, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah, I'm fine. Does that guy realize how fucking funny he is?" Vellena gave him a look like he'd sprouted another head. "Between the ghoul and this 'nightnightwind' shit, I could hardly keep a straight face!"

Vellena gave him a flat look at 'nightnightwind'. "I wish he'd just call me Knight Vellena like everyone else does. Or even just Knight, or Vellena. You probably shouldn't laugh at him – especially not to his face. That's Highlord Darion Mograine. He leads the Ebon Blades. He's my superior, and the leader of every free Death Knight in Azeroth."

The door opened, and the ghoul shambled in, holding a waterskin. Grimmjow recognized it – such things had been common when he'd been alive. The ghoul held it out to him, and he took it gratefully, undoing the stopper and drinking deeply as the creature exited the room. Vellena watched as he drained the skin and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, I can't believe how thirsty I was!" he exclaimed. "Lived in a desert for a couple hundred years, and I've never felt so thirsty."

"You lost a lot of blood," Vellena said.

"Yeah, about that. What the hell happened? How did we end up here?" Last he remembered, she was still waiting for Szayel to find a way to return her home. And he'd kind of suspected that Szayel wasn't trying very hard. Not to mention, last he saw her, she was attacking Nnoitra in a berserker rage, and he had the creeping suspicion that she wasn't in anyone's good books anymore.

Vellena told him. Apparently, she'd killed Nnoitra, who had previously disabled her with some device of Szayel's, and nearly killed her, before she hid and he stalked off to find _Grimmjow_. His face stiffened as he remembered Nnoitra's cowardly strike, the Quinto's attempt on his life. He was kind of sorry he hadn't had a chance to at least kick the fucker in the balls before Vellena killed him.

She'd apparently gone nutso in the attack (he vaguely remembered telling Kurosaki to disarm her before passing out), and tried to go after Nelliel, but Zaraki Kenpachi had stopped her. He was a little surprised to hear that the bloodthirsty Captain of the 11th had restrained himself enough to disarm her. At least the kid had listened to him and gotten that crazy shinigami to do it. Damnit! Now he'd never get a chance to kick Berry's ass! Oh well, from what he remembered of hearing Vellena talk about Azeroth, there were lots of interesting fights to get into here.

After that she had apparently used a modified garganta to bring him here. Where she had been greeted by her comrades in arms, and they'd apparently death-coiled his ass a few times until they were pretty sure he wasn't going to bite it, and left him here to recuperate, with a ghoul on watch for when he finally woke up. He'd been out, it seemed, for a little bit less than a full day. The death coils had done him some good, he knew, but he was no where near 100% yet.

"So that's it, huh?" Grimmjow asked when she'd finished the tale.

"Yeah," she replied. "You're not upset, are you?"

He thought about it for a moment. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he wasn't going to get a chance to destroy the shinigami kid, and even that was relatively minor. He knew he would have been in deep shit if he'd stayed in Las Noches – provided he'd lived long enough to face the consequences of his actions. He'd disobeyed Aizen, stuffed Ulquiorra in a Caja Negación, and practically _freed_ Orihime himself, all to get a shot at a rumble with the kid (and then _failing_, oh didn't _that_ sting). There was _no way_ he would have gotten off with just losing an arm _this_ time. It would have likely been Rudobōn and a formal execution. After some kind of public humiliation, no doubt; probably involving his reiatsu being sealed in some dramatic fashion and being paraded around as an example before finally being granted an ignoble death. Tōsen would have had a fucking field day.

Nope, he wasn't upset. He'd been upset when he thought Nnoitra had killed her, but he wasn't upset to discover both himself and her alive, even if she'd taken him from his world. "No, not at all," he replied.

Her relief at his words was palpable. She'd honestly thought he would be angry. He wondered, for the second time he could think of, just what she was to him, and what he was to her. He had admitted to himself, when he thought he was dying and she was gone, that he'd gotten attached. It seemed she returned the feelings. It was an alien notion to the arrancar, who had spent much of his life-after-death in a fever pitch of rage, hate, violence and hunger. Alien, but not exactly unwelcome. There was an unfamiliar… calmness… inside of him when he thought of her.

He rose from the stool, ruthlessly ignoring his body's protest. Vellena took three steps towards him, and then they were in each other's arms. Their lips met; hers cold as always. He couldn't speak the relief he felt that they were both still alive, but he could communicate it another way, and he did, as he closed his eyes and kissed her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Knight Vellena, but Highlord Mograine has requested your presence. Both of you," a slightly amused voice said from the door. It was a woman's voice, with that grating quality he was starting to suspect was a characteristic of Death Knights.

Standing in the doorway was another night elf. She was a few inches taller than Vellena (was his elf short? Yikes!), with paler, pinkish skin and purplish-white hair, also in full plate. These guys sure liked their plate armour.

"Ah, Commander Siouxsie—," Vellena said, pulling from Grimmjow. The other Death Knight smiled.

"There'll be time for that later, Vellena. The Highlord awaits you both."


	2. Updates and Briefings

It was foolish of her to have been worried. Grimmjow was resilient, and she knew he was a lot smarter than he acted. He had no doubt already figured out what his fate would have been if she had left him in Hueco Mundo. He didn't resent her interference.

These were the thoughts that occupied her as she and the arrancar followed the Banshee to Highlord Mograine. Grimmjow was trying to look around without looking like he was looking around. It was kind of funny, actually. He almost couldn't suppress his double take when he caught sight of his first tauren bull.

They were led to one of Mograine's chambers of office, a room kept for small meetings. The Highlord was already seated at the jet-black conference table. Several members of the Ebon Blade high command were at the table as well. As the trio entered the room, Mograine gestured for them to be seated.

Commander Siouxsie took a seat beside another commander, and Vellena and Grimmjow both slid into chairs facing Mograine and his high command. Grimmjow's blue eyes glittered as he studied the Death Knights, his face expressionless.

"Very well. I understand you haven't had the opportunity for a formal debriefing, Knight Nightwind. You may give your full report now," the Highlord said.

Vellena began her report, starting with getting storm-lost on her way to deliver a routine missive to Thassarian. She told everything about what followed – well, _almost_ everything. The high command didn't need to know about their bedroom habits. When the inevitable description of Aizen caused Lady Alistra to interrupt, demanding to know why she had worked on the side of what appeared to be another Arthas in the making, Grimmjow interrupted, glaring at the blood elf.

"Aizen made pretty damn sure that she only knew what he wanted her to know. Vellena was manipulated; she was deliberately fed falsehoods and bad intel. I wouldn't be surprised if he used his zanpakutō to control her – it hypnotizes people, and he could have easily done it without _anyone_ knowing. He had no intention of ever letting her go, and he would have killed her in an instant if she hadn't toed the line," he growled, staring Alistra down.

Vellena was a little surprised, both at the knowledge of the fact that she had been subject to a thorough disinformation campaign, and at the fact that Grimmjow was sticking up for her. She briefly wondered what his orders had consisted of, besides acting as her liaison. She made a mental note to talk to him about it later.

"Continue," Mograine said. She did, describing the first attack on Karakura, Grimmjow's punishment, the training sessions, the second attack on Karakura, and the capture of Orihime. She told the assembled Death Knights of her encounter with the girl, and related the tale of the Ryoka, along with her realization that Szayel was probably not looking into ways to return her home – doubtless at Aizen's order. She related the invasion of Hueco Mundo by the Ryoka; Nnoitra's ambush, and her fight with him after Grimmjow had fallen. Finally, she detailed her disarming and her decision to leave Hueco Mundo, and take Grimmjow with her.

The high command was silent for a moment. "That was quite an adventure. We are glad to have you returned to us, Knight Nightwind. We expect to begin our offensive against Arthas in earnest shortly," Mograine said. He shifted his icy gaze to Grimmjow. "I have questions for you as well, Sixth Jaegerjaquez. Vellena tells us that you served in this Aizen's army. What was the nature of your service?"

Grimmjow was silent for a moment. Vellena could sense that he understood the need to tread carefully here. What would happen to him from here would likely depend on what Mograine decided after hearing his side.

"I don't think I could explain it without explaining to you a little bit about what I am and where I come from," the arrancar finally said. Mograine nodded gesturing for him to continue. "Vellena tells me this world is different, but where I'm from, the worlds of the dead and the living are separated. When a hu—uh, a person dies, they can end up one of two places. Soul Society, which is run by the shinigami, is where cleansed souls go. Not all souls are cleansed. Some of us…" he paused. Vellena listened intently – she had only heard part of this story. Aizen hadn't wanted her to know the whole story. He continued.

"Some of us are so angry at our death that we sever our chain of fate, and then we become what are called hollows. Hollows, at first, are monstrous, mindless creatures that exist basically to feed, creatures born of hate, fear, anger – all those negative emotions that a soul can possess. We have holes in our bodies where our chains of fate were connected, and we wear masks. We eat the souls of the dead, shinigami when we can get them, and each other. Eventually we eat enough that the accumulated power of all those souls condenses, and we evolve. There's a number of stages – I'll skip describing those. Eventually some of us get to a point where we regain intelligence and will, and become very powerful. I was one of those. But the life of a hollow is always one of kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. If I had stopped there I would have been destroyed.

"There's a final stage to hollow evolution, the stage of arrancar. At that point, the hollow stops being monstrous, regains a body similar to what they had in life, stops being driven entirely by hunger, and becomes… like a shinigami. We have zanpakutō like a shinigami, and we're powerful. Usually this process takes hundreds, if not thousands of years, and is very rare. Aizen found a shortcut. When he betrayed Soul Society, he took something with him called the Hōgyoku, which he could use to make hollows directly into arrancar."

"So he created you?" one of the Death Knights asked.

"No." Grimmjow said, with a slight edge to his voice. "I existed before Aizen came along with his little ball of fun. I'm at least a couple hundred years old from what I can tell, and Aizen first showed up in Hueco Mundo about a hundred years ago. He didn't make me. He just made me what I am _today_. Bypassed about two hundred years of hollow evolution in the blink of an eye – I went from adjuchas to arrancar in one step, and skipped Vasto Lorde altogether. That kind of power is hard to turn down, when it means the difference between fighting every day of your life for the chance to continue existing, and being one of the ones at the top who don't have to do that anymore."

"So you fought for him."

"So I fought for him. Not that there was a lot of choice involved – once Aizen decided you were worth keeping, he made you an arrancar. There were those who fought and hid and got forced into it. I saw what was going on early on and went for it. Aizen was the only game in town – anywhere else in Hueco Mundo and he'd still hunt you down and 'recruit' you. I couldn't go to the living world, and I couldn't go to Soul Society; I'd have shinigami on my ass trying to cleanse me faster than you could say 'honey, I'm home,' so I stayed. I fought for Aizen. I won't say I didn't love the fighting, because I did.

"He was putting together his elite, the Espada, ten guys he was hoping to use as the core of his offense against the shinigami. I tested at Espada level, and got made the sixth. I probably could have gone higher, but you know, the worst places to be are the very top or the very bottom. There's always someone out for your ass. You wanted to know what he made us do? Missions. We got sent to the living world to fight people – shinigami mostly, once or twice we had to retrieve stuff, like objects Aizen wanted, that girl with the crazy power, and Aizen's goddamn tea so that he could have his goddamn tea parties. We also got sent around Hueco Mundo to scout out new 'talent'. That was pretty much it. If I'd stayed and remained an Espada, then I would probably have been part of an offensive against Soul Society sooner or later." He leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.

It was honestly the most she'd ever heard from Grimmjow in one stretch, and she rather doubted she'd hear him say this much again. She'd never heard his history – they hadn't talked much about their personal pasts in Hueco Mundo.

"Sixth Jaegerjaquez…" Mograine began. Grimmjow raised a stilling hand.

"Just Grimmjow, Highlord. I'm not Aizen's anymore," he said. Mograine continued.

"…Grimmjow. Do you plan to return to your own world now?"

"Naw. Either Aizen's dead and the shinigami are running things now, or he's not – either way I wouldn't exactly have a very warm welcome. Besides, Vellena tells me there's all kinds of interesting trouble to get into here. This Arthas guy sounds like a real bastard, and I wouldn't mind helping with the take down," Grimmjow drawled with his usual disregard for formality or propriety. Some of the others stiffened at his irreverent tone, but Mograine merely gazed on without emotion.

"I see. I am certain a being of your power and ability will be an asset in the coming war. You will be most welcome in our offensive, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Mograine stated.

"Highlord, I must question the wisdom of this course of action. By his own admission the man is a monster and a traitor. How do we know he will fight for us?" one of the commanders, a blood elf, interrupted.

Grimmjow leaned forward, dropping his casual position and gripping the table, giving the speaker a burning, predatory glare. "And you're a saint? I smell death and bloodshed in each and every one of your auras, as bloody and dark as any hollow in Hueco Mundo. I _know_ you love to kill, just as much as I do. By Vellena's account, you are all considered monsters here by the living of _your_ world. As for betrayal – are you telling me you're going to go dancing back to Arthas with a basket full of flowers? You had about as much choice in serving him as I did Aizen. _You_ tell _me_ how fucking trustworthy you are." His tone was icy, vicious. His words struck a nerve. The speaker stiffened and backed down.

"His situation seems little different from our own, Korethas. I would see no problems if he joined our efforts against Arthas; indeed, I would consider it an honor. Who are we to turn down any aid in this battle?" This was from another commander, a huge tauren that Vellena knew to be a gentle soul, despite being a Death Knight. One did what one had to in order to survive. Not all Death Knights were born monsters.

The Highlord rose to his feet. "I will be departing for Shadow Vault tomorrow. If any here wishes to accompany me through the gate, they may. This meeting is adjourned."

Vellena rose with the others, inclining her head in a respectful bow of acknowledgement. As she and Grimmjow exited the room, Commander Siouxsie walked beside them. "Do you wish to hear what has occurred in your absence?" the commander asked.

"That would be appreciated," Vellena replied.

"Come, then. Do you still eat food, Grimmjow?" Siouxsie addressed the arrancar.

"Yeah. There's enough reiatsu – uh… spirit energy in this place that I don't _have_ to eat, like Hueco Mundo. But it would probably help me heal faster," he said.

"Then let us eat together. I shall send for lunch, and we will dine in my quarters." Siouxsie turned to a nearby ghoul and spoke to it. They continued to the commander's quarters. Vellena had been in here once or twice – Siouxsie and she shared something that was almost a friendship – and things had not changed. There was a public room with a table and several chairs, which they sat at.

"So. It has been a little over a month by my count, has it not, Vellena?" Siouxsie began. Vellena nodded for her to continue. "The first you should know is that there have been few major developments at the front. We are still in a position of stalemate with the Scourge. Naxxramus continues to be a pain – even though Kel'Thuzad and his lieutenants have been dead for more than half a year, someone apparently did not receive the missive. The Scourge continues to gate new operatives into the fortress, and we cannot afford to let it go unanswered, not when it is so close to Wyrmrest Temple and Dalaran. So assaults continue on Naxxramus, but they are no longer as dire as they were."

Vellena felt a bit of amusement. The Scourge was… the Scourge. The majority of the Scourge consisted of mindless undead that were basically good for following directions, and that was about it. She could well believe that someone hadn't 'gotten the memo' (she'd heard that phrase a time or two in Hueco Mundo, and once it had been explained she liked it).

"The gates of Ulduar have opened, and groups of treasure seekers have been embarking on expeditions to explore its secrets. While there are Death Knights among them, the Ebon Blades do not have an official presence there. Ulduar is not our concern."

The food arrived then – a hearty stew and fresh baked brown bread, with cold water. Death Knights weren't known for their gustatory excesses – prior to the betrayal at Light's Hope, most of them had eaten the dead. Vellena and Grimmjow ate quietly, listening to Siouxsie's update.

"There is a new development you might be interested in. The Argent Crusade has sent out a call for champions, and has set up a tournament of jousters. The intent is to gather the greatest combatants in Azeroth for the coming battle. The Ebon Blade _does_ have an official presence there, and there are representatives from all races of the Horde and the Alliance."

That was indeed news. A tournament? What an interesting idea. She might have to go see what it was all about.

"What of the Horde and the Alliance?" Vellena asked.

"The same as always," Siouxsie sighed. Some Death Knights chose to affiliate with the Horde or the Alliance, but the Ebon Blades were mostly neutral. Vellena was recognized throughout most of the Alliance as someone who was not a threat, but she wasn't particularly well loved. The Ebon Blades was where her allegiance lay. Siouxsie was the same, though the two had always been slightly friendlier for their mutual night elf heritage. "You were at the Wrathgate, and a participant in the events in the Undercity, if I recall correctly, were you not?"

"Yes, I was," Vellena replied.

"Nothing has changed since then. King Wrynn is still determined to wipe out the Horde. I find both factions foolish – between the threats of the Burning Legion lurking around in the Outlands, the Lich King and his Scourge, and now the Black Flight, we don't have the luxury of these petty squabbles," Siouxsie's voice was hard.

"The Black Flight?" Vellena was surprised.

"Yeah. The ones at Wyrmrest have been pretty damn smug lately, according to reports. The term I heard used was 'neither confirming nor denying'. But Onyxia has been stirring in Dustwallow, and there's rumors that Deathwing himself is planning something for Azeroth."

"That can't be good," Vellena said.

"Uh, I hate to interrupt, but what is the Black Flight? And the Burning Legion? I've heard you talk about the Scourge, but not these other guys," Grimmjow said.

"The Black Flight is a race of dragons. The creators of our world originally placed Deathwing and his flight – then known as Neltharion – as the guardian of the earth and all things deep. I'm not certain on the details, but he was corrupted somehow, and turned from a protector to a destroyer," Vellena explained.

"_I_ know what it was. It was one of those Old Gods. Like C'thun. Some think there's one in Northrend too," Siouxsie interjected. Vellena's eyes widened.

"Malygos!" she exclaimed.

"Possibly. No one knows what drove the guardian of magic to do what he did. He is dead now, so perhaps it no longer matters."

Vellena nodded – Malygos had died before she had disappeared. She continued. "The Burning Legion is a vast army of demons from other worlds. Their sole purpose appears to be to corrupt all worlds they come across, and wipe out any they can't corrupt. Three times they have attempted to invade Azeroth and have been defeated."

"Dragons and demons and Old Gods, oh my," Grimmjow said. She had the vague impression that he was adapting a quote of some sort.

"Indeed. If you are looking to get into trouble, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, you have come to the right world" Siouxsie stated. Grimmjow grinned, something feral twinkling in his eyes.


	3. And Debriefings

They had returned to the chamber Grimmjow had awoken in. He was a little relieved – one day was _not_ enough to recover from wounds that should have killed him, despite the 'healing' administered by the Death Knights. He'd never admit it though.

He was also pleased to note that Vellena apparently intended to share the room with him. He was still finding his feet around here, and he didn't know what the rules were (not that he ever really paid much attention to rules in the first place), but it seemed at least that there were no objections to his relationship with the Death Knight.

In true Grimmjow fashion, however, he had already stepped on toes. Stomped them, more accurately. He knew that the long-eared guy who spoke out against him was probably not the only one thinking it, though he knew he'd stung them with his retort. He'd felt the shift in their collective reiatsus at his words. The big guy who looked like a cow (_that_ must be the reason why this 'standard issue' bed was not a cramped little cot) had spoke for more than one of the Death Knights, but Grimmjow was still fairly certain that there were those among the assembly who would be happy enough to see the arrancar go back where he came from. Nothing he wasn't already used to.

"Grimmjow, what exactly _were_ your orders concerning me?" Vellena asked as she closed the door to the chamber. Grimmjow froze, rapidly trying to think of a way to phrase this. "Fuck you and make you fall in love so you would do whatever Aizen said" wasn't something he wanted to say to her. He opened his mouth.

"It's ok, I think I figured it out," she said before he could speak. She sounded… kind of amused, actually. He felt relieved. "Let me guess, you were supposed to ensure my loyalty to the cause?"

Grimmjow nodded. "Yeah. And train you to fight like an arrancar," he said.

"When did you receive these orders?"

"The night Tōsen took my arm," he replied. She nodded, as if to herself.

"Don't worry, Grimmjow. I don't bear you any malice over it. It looks to me like Aizen's plan backfired somewhat," she said.

Yeah, it sure did. Far from being in Las Noches helping Aizen secure his objectives, they were both in Azeroth… doing… who knows what now. He sat down on the bed, hands on his thighs. Vellena sat down beside him. "I'm not going to miss the manipulative prick. Or that grinning asshole, Gin. I'm definitely not going to miss justice-boy Tōsen. Or how fucking boring Hueco Mundo always was," he said. "Who knows, it might be nice to wreak a little havoc without having shinigami all over my ass trying to spoil my fun."

She chuckled, a throaty noise. "I think you'll like Azeroth, Grimmjow."

More so because _she_ was here, but he wasn't going to say _that_. Instead, he pulled off his boots and his clothes, folding the garments properly and placing it on the nearby stool, laying Pantera across them. Like he had found them when he awoke, only properly folded this time. Vellena undressed as well, giving her clothing the same treatment, and did something to extinguish the blue lights. They slid into bed together, his arms around her. He didn't want to admit it, but he was still really tired. Oh well, he guessed it beat being dead, which was the alternative. Very shortly, he was asleep.

After spending the majority of existence in a land where there is no indication of the change of day or night, Grimmjow had developed a good sense for the flow of time while sleeping – at least when he wasn't passed out unconscious from injuries. He woke up approximately eight hours after falling asleep. His unfamiliar surroundings gave him momentary confusion until he recalled the events of the last time he was awake. Beside him, his night elf was still sleeping. She nearly stopped breathing entirely when she slept – it was difficult to tell if she was living or dead. He'd noticed she took on the ambient temperature, kind of like a reptile. After a night in bed with him, she was warm.

Looking at her lying there, looking so innocent (especially when he knew damn well she wasn't) affected him. Ahh, morning wood. His hands (boy, it was good to have two of them again) roamed her in the darkness, exploring her. He found smooth skin, unmarred by scars or marks. He could see enough to tell that she was relatively unwounded – she'd found healing somewhere. Maybe death coils. He renewed his desire to learn the technique if he could; it was damn useful. Hurt your enemy and heal yourself, what wasn't there to like?

He added his lips to the exploration of Vellena's skin, and she began to stir. He grinned from around her hardening nipple when blue light flickered as she blinked. Her hands found their way to his azure locks, rubbing his scalp. He loved that feeling – maybe it was the feline in him. Being touched was something he'd never allowed much; in Las Noches even those who wanted to fuck him were potential adversaries and not people he could let his guard down around. This was different. After a little more than a month of fucking her, he was pretty damn sure the night elf was _his_. He purred at the feel of her hands on him.

"Good morning, Grimmjow," he heard her say. He purred a little harder, tracing wet kisses and nibbling bites up her chest and neck, half covering her body with his own. He shifted his legs, enjoying the feel of her hips against his member. "I see you woke up in a good mood." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Mmmhmmm," he replied absently before sucking on the hollow of her throat. She moved underneath him, one leg wrapping around him, a hand trailing down his side to grip his ass. The other still wound through his hair, moving his head insistently towards her face. Their lips met and his tongue plunged into her mouth aggressively. Her roaming hand slid between their bodies, finding his cock. Oh, that felt good. "Mmm," he said into her mouth.

He pulled a hand away from her wonderful breast (he sure liked those) and drew it down her torso in an insistent caress that made it between her legs. Moaning, she let her leg drop, letting him have access. His desire flared as he felt her wetness. She was ready for him and he wasn't in the mood to wait. His mouth not leaving hers, they shifted. He positioned himself and pushed forward, taking her. As her slick pussy sheathed him, she moaned. He found her breast again and teased her nipple into a peak, running his other hand through her soft hair.

Her legs wrapped around him and he bucked, driving into her hard. He ignored the twinges of his sore muscles and half-healed wounds – the only thing he cared about right now was fucking Vellena. Grimmjow gasped at the feel of her, a thrill running through him as he felt her nails slip between the bandages and cut into his back.

He took her as hard as he could manage without disrupting his injuries too much, enjoying the sweet music of her moans. He enjoyed the feel of her curvaceous body underneath his. He wanted to make her come, to feel her pulsing around him, to hear her voice gasping out his name. He wanted to come inside her; to reaffirm his possession of her, his dominance. She was his. He circled his hips, breathing hard as he fucked her. He could feel their reiatsu mingling, sky blue and old blood.

Gasping, he closed his eyes as he finally brought her to the peak. She clamped down on his member, and he groaned as he pushed into her. Like he had wanted, she called out his name. Unable to hold back any longer, he bit her neck, thrusting wildly as he released, the waves of pleasure crashing into him as he lost himself inside her. _His_, oh, all his.

They were both breathing hard, still entwined and enjoying the post-coital euphoria, when they both froze, faces turning to the door as it opened. "Knight Vel—ugh I did _not_ need to see that," said a haughty voice from the door. Grimmjow made out the sight of one of those other kinds of elves, a male, as the intruder put his face in his palm and averted his gaze. "Master Siegesmith Corvus sent me to tell you that your gear is ready, and the Highlord leaves in four hours," said the elf. Then he closed the door, not waiting for a reply.

"Thanks!" called out Vellena.

"Don't mention it, _please,_" the muffled, sarcastic voice replied from behind the door.

Grimmjow chuckled. "That'll teach him to knock first," he cracked. Beneath him, Vellena gave an answering chuckle. He could feel the pressure of her laughter from inside her. As pleasant as this was, maybe they should get up. There were other things he wanted to do with her, but this wasn't the time or the place. He levered himself off her, lounging beside her with his head propped up with his hand. The other hand he used to trace languid designs across her stomach. He felt… surprisingly good for someone who almost died less than two days ago.

"Maybe we should get up," he said.

"Maybe we should," Vellena agreed, sitting up. Gods, there was something beautiful about her right after he'd finished fucking her. Even in the dark, he could see it. She did something, and the blue fires lit. The light did nothing to diminish that sensual appeal. He smiled.

"Your people got a rule against fraternizing?" he asked, curious. She glanced at him, blue eyes glowing like the flames in the torches and the brazier.

"No. Most of us don't… uh," she shrugged, "_want_ to, I guess."

"I guess I'm just lucky, huh?" he said, sitting up and pulling her close so he could nibble her long ear and plant a kiss on her neck – in the same place he'd bit her earlier, he noted. There was a slightly darker patch of purple skin. She didn't bruise easily; he must have bit her a little harder than he thought. At least he hadn't broken skin. He'd done that a time or two back in Las Noches, but she didn't seem to mind ever.

"I didn't want to either until you, uh, got me started. Never really thought about it," she replied. He grinned. He liked that idea, the idea that he'd been responsible for transforming her from stone cold Death Knight to undead sex kitten. He took a certain degree of pride in his bedroom abilities.

He scratched at the bandages that encased most of his torso and part of his neck, feeling a little unsatisfied when his nails just zipped over the slick fabric, not relieving the itch of his healing wounds. He wondered how extensive the damage was. He had vague recollections of being wounded quite severely, with several long gashes on his chest and a slice in his neck where Nnoitra had got him.

"We should probably change those bandages," Vellena said.

"Do we have time?" Grimmjow asked.

"Yes, it should not take more than an hour or two to pick up my armour and a few other things. The blood elf said we have four."

"Alright then." He was curious. He sat on the bed while Vellena unwrapped the bandages, trying not to grumble when the blood-glued cloth was pulled away from his wounds. Underneath it wasn't as bad as he remembered. The only blood was dried blood, and it flaked away easily under her touch. The wounds had closed over; pinkish, puffy skin visible where they had been. It looked like it might after a visit to the arrancar medics – not perfect, but he'd heal up. If he continued to regain his strength, those scars would fade away and possibly even disappear completely inside a week.

"You probably don't need new bandages," she said. "You've healed up nicely. All those death coils I guess."

"I need a shower, is what I need," he replied. The last time he'd bathed had been back in Las Noches, before fighting Kurosaki. At the thought, he felt the urge to get clean quite keenly. Easy access to showers was something he suspected he would miss from Las Noches. It might well be the only thing.

"We don't have those. We do have bathing pools on this level – I'll take you to them. We have enough time for that." She began to dress, and he followed suit. He could tell that there wasn't bathing facilities attached to these quarters (which he had begun to suspect were hers – there was a feeling to the room that told him she had spent some time in here), and that meant a walk, likely in public.

Sure enough, she led him on a short walk through the darkened halls of Acherus, to a wing that had been obviously converted from another purpose to serve the hygiene needs of the now-freed Death Knights. She pointed him in the direction of the men's facilities, and went along to the women's. He felt a little bit of regret at the fact that there didn't seem to be a private facility they could share, but he shrugged and went in.

There was no one else in the room he entered, though it seemed like there was enough space for several people. There was a bench, what looked like a cubicle for toilet needs (did Death Knights use that? Arrancar didn't), and a wall lined with open cubbies for gear. He placed his stuff in a cubby, noting that there must be at least one other person using the facilities, because there was one other cubby with gear in it. Apparently there wasn't a lot of theft in Acherus, because there appeared to be no way to secure the cubbies.

Naked as the day he was transformed into an arrancar, he carried Pantera in its sheath (lack of theft or not, there was no _way_ he was leaving his zanpakutō behind), making his way to the bathing room. Sure enough, there was another person there. This one had green skin and black hair pulled into a topknot. At first, Grimmjow thought he was short, but then he realized that the other man was actually an inch or so _taller_ than himself; just _very_ widely built.

Upon seeing Grimmjow enter, the other man pointed to a bench lining the pool. "Soap and towels over there. You can put your weapon on the bench." He said in a voice even more gravelly than Grimmjow was used to hearing from these Death Knights. The arrancar looked in the direction the strange man was pointing and placed Pantera gently on the bench, not too far from the massive axe that must surely belong to the green guy (Grimmjow guessed he didn't want to give up his weapon either). Then he grabbed a chunk of ugly-looking yellow soap (he recognized it as the same kind that Vellena had used before Harribel had introduced her to that lavender-scented stuff from the living world), and entered the pool.

"You're that one that Knight Vellena brought back from another world, aren't you? You look like a human but you're _not_, are you?" the other man asked as Grimmjow slid into the water. Apparently he was in a conversational mood. Grimmjow blinked.

"Yeah, she brought me here. The world I'm from is _very_ different. And you're right, I'm not exactly human," he replied. "Pardon my ignorance, but I'm still not sure what you are." Grimmjow sat in the warm water, letting it submerge him up to his neck. The other man faced him, sitting across from him in the pool, massive, muscular arms to either side of him along the edge.

"I'm an orc. I guess they don't have orcs where you come from."

"No. Just humans, shinigami, and hollows. I'm a hollow. Arrancar," Grimmjow grinned, showing some teeth.

"Must be a strange world," replied the orc.

"To me, this world is strange," Grimmjow responded.

"I guess it would be. My name is Gorric Bloodaxe."

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"I'd shake your hand but we're naked, and that would be awkward," Gorric said. Grimmjow stifled a snort and began bathing.


	4. Expedition

Clean and dressed, Vellena met Grimmjow outside the bathing wing. His hair was still damp, and he was dressed in his Espada uniform, which had been cleaned and mended before he'd awoken the first time. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his hakama, and he was staring off into nothing, apparently lost in thought. Sensing her approach, his eyes lost their distant look and flicked to her. He grinned that familiar Grimmjow grin.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yep. There was this guy in there, an orc, just about talked my ear off. Called himself Gorric Bloodaxe," he said. Vellena stifled a smile. Gorric was legendary among the Death Knights for being one of the most social and outgoing individuals among a normally very taciturn group.

"Were you waiting long for me?"

"No, I just got out. What happens now?"

Vellena considered. "Now, I go to the Siegesmith and attempt to argue him down to a reasonable price for my armour repairs. Then we get you some cold weather gear and some basic supplies, and go to Shadow Vault, in Northrend."

"Cold weather supplies?"

"Yes. We are going to the far north. There will be arctic conditions. How well are you able to tolerate cold?" she asked.

Grimmjow appeared to think for a moment. "Well it won't kill me, at least not right away, but I've never spent any time in a cold place. Hueco Mundo is kind of the same all the time," he said. "Except for sandstorms there really isn't weather."

"Then we'd better err on the side of caution," she stated, and began walking. Grimmjow trailed after her, hands in his pockets, once more attempting to look around without looking like that's what he was doing. Ahead of him where he couldn't see her face, she smirked.

They went to Corvus first. Grimmjow eyed the skeletal smith, saying nothing. "Back, are you, Knight Vellena? Your gear is repaired. That'll be 75 gold," the smith said.

"What? That's way more than usual, Corvus. Are you fucking kidding me?" she snarled.

"Unlike usual, the state you returned your armour and weapons to me in was atrocious. You would think you Death Knights would learn to take better care of your gear, since you practically _live_ in it and all, but _noooo_, here comes Vellena Nightwind with her armour nearly crushed in completely and full of holes. Your weapons, those you take care of, but your armour? Ha!" bitched the skeleton. Grimmjow's eyes widened at the exchange and he smirked.

"I didn't exactly have the resources to fix it myself and I didn't exactly have a choice in the condition. You try surviving several tons of ice crushing you from all sides. Your stupid brittle bones would smash to flinders, bonehead," she retorted.

"Maybe you should have thought of that _before_ you got crushed by several tons of ice on all sides. It's still 75 gold, fool."

"What about the Ebon Blades discount, rattlebones?"

"That's _with_ the discount. Since I love you so much, I'm charging you 75 instead of 100. Dumbass, this stuff is mostly titansteel, that shit ain't cheap, and I had to rebuild quite a bit of your gear," came the sarcastic retort.

"How about 60, empty head."

"How about no, ice for brains! This ain't a charity."

"65 then."

"No. I _could_ just keep it and sell it, you know."

"Alright, how about 70," Vellena sighed.

The skeleton paused. "Oh alright. I'll give you your shit back for 70. But I'd better not see you back for at least a month, or I'm going to tack on a 50% stupid tax."

She rolled her eyes and fished around in her magic bags for the cash. She had it, at least. Damn near broke, but she had enough to repair her armour. This time. Another round like that would wipe her out. She needed to get to Dalaran and to the bank, or better yet, start earning some cash.

She paid Corvus and he led her to her repaired armour, which she began to put on. While she was buckling up, she heard the skeleton address Grimmjow. "I don't know what you did to her, but she's more animated than she's been in the five years I've known her," the Siegesmith said.

"I have that effect on women," Grimmjow replied with a smug grin. Vellena felt herself blush. As embarrassing as it was to admit, a month with Grimmjow had opened her up emotionally, something she would have never expected in all her remaining unlife. He'd changed her, and she wasn't altogether displeased with the change. How could a single being have such a devastating effect on her? She didn't know, but she didn't really mind all the same.

She finished donning her gear and returned to Grimmjow and the smith. "Let's go, Grimmjow," she said to her companion. "Thanks again, Corvus," she said to the smith.

"Keep it in better shape this time, dunderhead," the smith replied, giving her a cheerful wave at odds with his abusive language.

Vellena and Grimmjow continued on their way, going to the zombie Gangrenus for general supplies. Grimmjow kept his distance, wrinkling his nose. Unlike Corvus, Gangrenus was not a very talkative sort, nor did he bargain. Vellena spent a portion of her rapidly dwindling stash of gold on Grimmjow, acquiring standard gear such as blankets, rations, cold weather gear (which he made a face at), and some magic bags to store it all in. They weren't very good magic bags – hers were much more capacious, but they would do for now, until she could get to a major city and buy him some better ones. Or better yet, maybe by that time he'd have his own money and could buy his own.

"Is all this stuff really necessary?" Grimmjow asked as they made their way to the flight deck of the keep, where Highlord Mograine's party would be embarking from.

"You never know. It can take days to travel between places in Northrend. It is better to have it and never use it than to not have it and die because you needed it," she replied. It was half an hour before Mograine was scheduled to depart and several other Death Knights and other undead had gathered in the space. Some of them eyed her and Grimmjow, who eyed them back.

"As soon as I can, we're going to get you some better gear," Vellena said as they waited.

"What's wrong with what I have?" Grimmjow demanded.

"Nothing. There's better stuff out there though. You should learn how to wear armour if you can. Hierro is all very well and nice, but I don't think it will stand up against enchanted weapons, and I can guarantee we'll be facing those," she said.

"I don't want to wear armour. All that plate is just a pain in the ass."

"There's other kinds of armour than plate. Mail, leather… you probably want to avoid cloth; everyone will think you're a mage."

"What's a mage?"

"A mage is a spellcaster. They usually run around in dresses waving wands around. They run Dalaran, but… some of them are pretty goofy," she said.

"Sounds like something Szayel would enjoy," Grimmjow said. Vellena thought back to the pink haired Espada and snickered.

"I should have spent more time briefing you on Azeroth, but I didn't exactly anticipate bringing you here," she said.

"Hn," he said, noncommittally. What did that even mean anyway?

"Maybe I should start now. I'll start with the races and factions. There are a lot of different intelligent species in this world and in the ones connected to it, but I'll describe the ones you'll see the most. I'm a night elf, as you know, and my people are members of the Alliance. Also in the alliance are the gnomes, dwarves, humans, and draenei." She pointed out members of those races among the crowd of Death Knights. Just her luck – it seemed that there were representatives from all races here today. Grimmjow paid attention, for once.

"In the Horde are five other races. The blood elves, orcs, trolls, tauren and undead," she continued.

"Wait a sec. If you're undead, and they're undead, how come you're not in the Horde? And is the Horde fighting this Scourge?" Grimmjow asked.

"Most of the free Death Knights have been accepted back into their original factions. The undead in the Horde should more accurately be called the Forsaken; they have broken free of Arthas' control, and are free beings. No member of the Scourge is a free being. They have every reason to fight the Scourge, and more than some. Arthas still wants them back under his control, just as he wants us back," she replied.

"Hn."

"You should also know about a few other races that aren't formally allied with any faction – well, yet at any rate. The goblins – those are short, green humanoids with pointy ears and big smiles – you'll usually find them running mercantile operations. They used to be part of the Horde but they aren't anymore, though I've heard rumors that they might be again. That will do something interesting to the economy, I'm sure.

"You might eventually meet ogres, furbolg, tuskarr, wolvar, gorlocs, arakkoa, and etherials. None of them are officially aligned with Horde or Alliance, but some of them can be friendly to us. Oh, and don't forget the dragons," she stated. "The Blue Flight is currently trying to kill anyone with a whiff of magic, and we discussed the Black Flight yesterday. But the Green, Red and Bronze flights occasionally aid us. The Red Flight in particular has friendly relations with the mortal races. Alexstrasza the Life-Binder has been charged with preserving life in Azeroth."

"I'm not going to remember all of this," Grimmjow said with a hint of impatience.

"I guess it can't be helped. You'll learn as we go along. Try not to piss anyone off, there's a lot of people with short tempers and quick blades," she said.

"Maybe they should try not to piss _me_ off. I haven't lost any of my powers in coming here," he growled. Vellena suspected she'd taken the wrong approach with this.

"Just try diplomacy first is all I'm saying. And when we're in Dalaran, _don't_ start a fight. The mages _really_ don't like that. There's a few other places where you really don't want to start shit, but that's probably the most important."

"I'm not afraid of mages," Grimmjow said with an annoyed tone.

"Wait until one turns you into a sheep, and then tell me that," she snarked.

"Huh," was all he said. They were silent for a moment, then he began talking again. "Hey, if one turns you into a sheep, I'm still gonna—,"

She silenced him with a glare. "Don't even _think_ it," she snapped. He gave her an evil grin. She put her forehead in her palm and sighed.

"What the fuck?" said Grimmjow, causing her to look up. "Where are these weird ass horses coming from?"

The Death Knights were mounting. Deathchargers were being brought in from the Realm of Shadow. Oh shit, Coldgaze! Hopefully a month in the Realm of Shadow wasn't enough to harm it. She concentrated, reaching out with her senses.

"What are you doing?" Grimmjow asked, clearly sensing her efforts even if he didn't understand them.

"Hush a moment," she said. Aha! Coldgaze appeared before her with a hollow-sounding neigh. Seeing her, it whickered. She stretched out her hand for the undead horse to nose at.

"Where the hell did you get _that_?" Grimmjow said.

"This is Coldgaze, my deathcharger. It lives in the Realm of Shadow when I'm not riding it," she said. "Come here, I want to introduce you. It'll need to get your scent, I don't want it deciding you're an enemy and trying to kick you or horn you." She beckoned the arrancar over. He eyed the deathcharger warily and took a few steps closer to her. "Put out your hand," she demanded. He complied. She pulled his wrist close to Coldgaze's nose.

"Hey Coldgaze, this is Grimmjow. He's a friend," she said to the deathcharger, using a soft, high voice. Grimmjow stood unflinchingly as the steed huffed cold breath on his palm. He probably didn't realize Coldgaze could take his hand off in one motion, and she wasn't going to tell him that. There were things he didn't need to know. The deathcharger nibbled gently at Grimmjow's palm with cold fuzzy lips.

"Just a sec," she said, digging a sugar cube out of her bags and placing it on Grimmjow's palm. The undead horse lipped it up eagerly, then blew on the arrancar's hand and whickered again. "Excellent. It likes you."

"What was the point of that?" Grimmjow asked as Vellena launched into Coldgaze's saddle.

"It's a battle steed. It's better when it knows friend from foe. Mount up behind me."

"No fucking way," Grimmjow stared at her like she was crazy.

"Come on, Grimmjow," she cajoled. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a dead horse."

"I am not!" he grumbled, glaring at her. "Sonído works just fine for me."

"You won't be able to sonído everywhere here, you'll exhaust yourself. You'll need to learn to ride. Get on." She shifted forward in the saddle. There was enough room – just barely – for two riders. Grimmjow gave her one last 'you're crazy' look and climbed into the saddle behind her.

Highlord Mograine was opening the Death Gate to Shadow Vault. The huge portal rose from the ground, skull capping it, and unholy energy swirled in its depths. The contingent of Death Knights began following their leaders through the portal. She reined Coldgaze forward, smiling slightly when Grimmjow grabbed her waist at the unexpected motion. This would no doubt be more fun if she wasn't in armour, but like she was going to say that!


	5. To Shadow Vault

Vellena steered her mount straight into that not-garganta, and Grimmjow felt the world lurch as it disappeared. Everything was black, green, and purple, and Grimmjow couldn't sense the horse underneath him or the elf in front of him; it felt like he was free-falling through a void. Just as he started to wonder if he should be concerned, the world reappeared. He was slightly relieved (though he would never admit to it) at the feel of the horse and the sight of Vellena sitting in front of him, calm and collected. That wasn't much like a garganta! Vellena saw similarities between those? He sure didn't.

The first thing he noticed after reappearing was the cold. It wasn't enough to bother him _right now_, but he was privately glad that Vellena had insisted on bringing all that cold weather gear. Something else he'd never admit to. He could survive this cold, but it sure wouldn't be comfortable. He could see his breath. Hell, he could even see Vellena's.

The second thing he noticed was the _huge_ building they were riding into. It didn't have anything on Las Noches, but it was impressive all the same. Blue-black stone rose in a massive, buttressed structure. He could make out crenellated tiers rising up higher and higher, and an enormous spiky edifice jutting defiantly into the sky.

The third thing he noticed was that there were a whole lot of other beings around; most of them he assumed were undead, but it appeared there were some living ones among them as well. The entourage of Death Knights was riding sedately into the enormous structure, and several beings stopped what they were doing to watch the procession.

Ahead of them, he saw two Death Knight on deathchargers facing the approaching column. "That's Thassarian and Koltira Deathweaver," Vellena said as the two dismounted and knelt, facing Mograine. The column reined to a halt, and Mograine dismounted.

"Rise, friends," came his booming voice, filling the cavernous room. The two kneeling Death Knights rose. "I thank you for your greeting, Commanders Thassarian and Deathweaver." Grimmjow tuned out the military pleasantries, choosing instead to gaze around the huge hall. People were coming and going – most stopped to watch the Death Knights talk, but many seemed to get bored and leave. Twisting his body around, he looked outside the building, catching sight of individuals flying away on the backs of strange creatures.

"We can dismount now," Vellena's voice interrupted his viewing. Grimmjow grunted and slid from Coldgaze's back. She did the same, and then she did that strange thing again with her reiatsu, and Coldgaze vanished from the material world. From what he could tell, she was accessing a parallel world or dimension when she did that. Hmm.

That's when he noticed the fourth thing – that there really wasn't as much reiatsu in the air here as there had been in Acherus. It wasn't as bad as the world of the living back home, but it would require energy from other sources. He was glad now that Vellena had packed food.

"You should put on your cold weather gear. Or at least your cloak," Vellena interrupted his thoughts again.

"What?"

She turned to him, reached up with one gauntleted hand, and pinched one of his chilly nipples. "Ow!" he said, his hand going up to push away hers. "What was that for?"

"Put your cloak on, Grimmjow. Anyone can tell you're cold." She sounded somewhat amused. Scowling, he dug his cloak from his bags and donned it. He reluctantly closed his jacket, and conceded that she might just have a point. The cloak helped, but it wasn't enough.

"I need to speak with Thassarian. I still have his missive."

Grimmjow snorted. It was over a month late. Like it would matter. But he followed Vellena as she approached her superior, who was no longer speaking with Mograine. The Highlord had wandered to another part of the hold.

"Knight Vellena Nightwind, you're late," said Thassarian, as she handed over the sealed missive. He accepted it, his cold blue gaze flicking to Grimmjow, his hollow hole, and then back to her. Grimmjow stood nearby, hands in his pockets, watching impassively.

"I'm afraid I was waylaid, and had something of an adventure," Vellena replied. "I apologize for the lateness of this missive."

"Adventure, hmm?" The Death Knight's gaze flickered to Grimmjow, who met it unwaveringly. "I would like to hear more about it if you would, but after I check this missive."

"As you wish, Commander," Vellena said. The man cracked the seal on the missive and began to read. After a few moments, he snorted.

"Well, that was a waste of your time. I'm sorry, Vellena, that you were dragooned into bringing this to me. I am no more interested in dining with Lady Kilar in Dalaran now than I was three months ago, when she asked me the first time."

Vellena stared at him. Grimmjow grinned. All of this trouble, into his world and back, for a dinner invitation? This was too rich. He chuckled. Vellena shot him a glare. Thassarian caught his eyes again and grinned. He apparently saw the humor in it too. Grimmjow decided he couldn't be all that bad.

"I guess supper's gone cold by now," Grimmjow cracked. Thassarian laughed. Yeah, this guy couldn't be that bad at all.

"Let me guess, stranger, you're part of the 'adventure' Knight Vellena mentioned?"

"Yeah, I am. Feel like a good story?" Grimmjow replied. Vellena looked about to protest, but the arrancar was close enough to place a stilling hand on her shoulder.

"I have some time before Mograine will wish to discuss tactics with Koltira and myself. Let's go find something warm to drink and some food, and let's hear your story," Thassarian smiled.

Grimmjow did not permit his annoyance to show when the guy served them tea, although after drinking the warm liquid he decided it didn't taste all that bad, and the warmth was nice in this cold place, reminders of Aizen aside. He was formally introduced to Thassarian, who shook his hand with a firm, gauntleted fist. Between him and Vellena, they managed to tell the story of her last month and a bit in Hueco Mundo.

"That's quite the tale, Knight Vellena."

"It's all true, though," she replied.

"I don't doubt you. I can see Grimmjow just as easily as you," Thassarian said. Grimmjow realized something with a start… it had totally slipped his mind before, but everyone here seemed fully able to see him. Perhaps Azeroth was just more spiritually aware, or perhaps the transition from one world to the next had… changed him somehow. He wondered if he could use any of his arrancar abilities here – he had assumed he could, but he hadn't actually _tried_. He felt a little cold (and it had nothing to do with the weather) at the prospect of not having access to his powers here.

Vellena was smiling in answer to Thassarian's comment. "Indeed."

"What are your plans now?" the commander asked.

"I will return to Dalaran, and decide from there. I had planned on taking more missions, but…" she trailed off, looking at Grimmjow. "It depends on Grimmjow."

"You two plan on traveling together I take it?" Thassarian asked. Vellena looked at Grimmjow, who shifted in his seat. He hadn't really given the whole situation much thought – he hadn't really had an opportunity to sit down and figure out what to do. He was in a new world. The only point of familiarity was Vellena. He was aware that they were both looking at him expectantly.

"Uh," he said. Oh, _that_ sounded_ real_ smart! "I was thinking of just going wherever Vellena wanted, actually. I don't really know your world all that well." He _didn't_ say 'I was gonna follow Vellena around,' no matter how hard he was thinking it. He didn't want to sound any more stupid than he already had.

"There is wisdom in that, Sir Jaegerjaquez," said Thassarian. Grimmjow shifted at the title. What was it with these Death Knights and their titles? Seriously!

Thassarian continued. "It was a pleasure speaking with you both. I bid you a safe and pleasant flight back to Dalaran." He rose. "I'm afraid I must meet with Highlord Mograine. Thank you for relating your tale."

Vellena rose and bowed. Grimmjow gave him a nod. She turned and started to leave the room. He was going to do the same, but a heavy, metal-gloved hand on his shoulder stilled him. He turned to the other man, wary and wondering what he wanted.

"Sir Jaegerjaquez, it is not often we find someone to revive our hearts. Thank you for helping Vellena. Few of us have anything to live for besides destroying Arthas," Thassarian said to him.

Grimmjow shifted uncomfortably. "Ahm… It's much the same with my kind. We're widely reputed to not possess hearts at all," he said.

The Death Knight smiled at him. "You are good for each other, then. Be well, Sir Jaegerjaquez. Take care of our Vellena." The hand left his shoulder. Grimmjow gave a short bow, then turned to follow his companion. He felt a little uncomfortable – he still wasn't any more certain about his feelings (or Vellena's for that matter) than he was when he lay dying in the sand in Las Noches. Thassarian made it clear that whatever they had was not objected to, possibly even sanctioned and respected.

Did he love her? All he knew is that he was following her like a stray cat, into an alien world. He'd left behind everything he knew for her, without regret. The thought of being _without_ her caused an uncomfortable feeling somewhere in his chest. That same place in his chest burned with warmth at the thought of being with her, of holding her, fucking her, possessing her, being near her... She was _his_. Was that love? He didn't know. Maybe he'd never know.

Focusing his reiatsu, he attempted a sonído step to her retreating form. It worked, and he was walking by her side like nothing was amiss, his long cloak flapping at the motion. She turned her head to meet his gaze for one short moment, and they continued walking together. He was inwardly relieved that sonído worked. If that worked, his other abilities should too. He only had to think at his blade to hear Pantera's contented rumble to know that his zanpakutō had not suffered from the trip to a new world.

She brought them to what appeared to be a stable, except it was filled with winged creatures. He looked around at the strange creatures while she spoke with an undead guy. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them exchange coins. Then she turned back to Grimmjow.

"Come on, I've rented us a skeletal gryphon," she said.

"Say what?" he said.

She turned and gave him a nonplused look. "We're not walking to Dalaran," she stated.

"What's wrong with sonído?"

"How long can you keep that up for?"

He considered. In Hueco Mundo, maybe the better part of a day. But here? He didn't know. How long could _she_ keep up sonído? She had enough power to defeat an Espada, but that was also because of her blade. He didn't think she could go as long as he could.

"How far is this Dalaran?" Grimmjow asked.

"Several days' flight."

Several days huh? Several days of nothing but sonído versus several days of sitting on a… whatsit? Either way he was going to be bored witless, he was sure. Riding the whatever it was would conserve his strength, though.

"Guess we'll take your …flying… thingy," he said. She was smiling, something smug-looking. He glared at her and followed her to the mount she'd hired. When he caught sight of it, he began to have serious doubts.

It was all bones, in the shape of… well, it looked like someone tried to piece together the skeletons of a great cat and an eagle. Its wings were just bones. He wondered how it achieved any lift like that.

"You're shitting me, right?" he said.

"Nope. It flies. And it never gets tired. _Much_ better than a living gryphon. They tend to spook," she replied, reaching up to scratch the bony skull. The thing made an odd clacking noise and whistled, leaning in to her caress.

"I've been saving up for one of my own for a long time. Dread Commander Thalanor has most of one on layaway for me, just another two hundred gold and I'll be good to go," Vellena chirped happily. He looked at her like she was crazy. She led the bony… _thing_… out to the open courtyard and leaped into its saddle.

"Well, hop on!" she said. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and climbed behind her. Sinews creaking, the undead flyer crouched, and then launched itself at the sky. He gripped Vellena's waist, feeling sheepish. If he fell off, he could catch himself with reiatsu long before he hit the ground.

Once they were truly airborne and he realized just how fast they were moving, he decided that this wasn't so bad after all. Sonído was faster still, but he admitted it would be exhausting. And this way, he had an opportunity to look around him.

"Where are we?" He had to shout to be heard above the wind of their flight. Fortunately for him, Vellena's cloak was keeping his front warm enough, and his own was keeping his back warm enough. His hands were fucking _freezing_, though. Didn't he have gloves in one of those bags?

"Icecrown!" Vellena replied, also shouting. As he dug around in his bags for the gloves (oh gods, found them, oh that's much better), she gestured below. "We're approaching Aldur'Thar. Down there is a quarry. All this territory is controlled by the Scourge, except for Shadow Vault. I bet that pisses off Arthas!" she shouted. He looked down. The terrain passed slowly, which was an indication of the immense distances they were traveling. He could make out tiny, dust-speck figures moving around on the ground below.

He passed the time watching the scenery go by, and watching the aurora, which blazed in the sky around them. The cold was bitter, but could be endured. A couple days of this, huh? That promised to be right boring.


	6. Playing Catch-Up

They camped that night on a glacier, Vellena pitching her magically-warmed tent and brought in the half-frozen Grimmjow. The undead gryphon rested outside the tent, content to sit in the snow. In the morning, Grimmjow wordlessly donned the cold weather gear, and Vellena had the grace not to smirk when he was looking at her. He even wore the tuque, although he'd given the pom-pom a dirty glare before putting it on.

She pointed out the landmarks of Icecrown as they flew past. From time to time they saw undead dragons flying in the distance, but those either didn't see them or hadn't been ordered to care. The second night was spent on a glacier again. By the time noon rolled around on the third day, they could see the massive floating city in the distance. They landed briefly in the Crusader's Pinnacle for a bite to eat on the ground, and then they took off again. The evening found them landing in Dalaran, at long last.

Vellena reined the gryphon away from the circular landing pad in order to clear the spot for other flyers, and dismounted stiffly. Grimmjow dismounted just as stiffly, looking around.

"There's a lot more reiatsu here than there was in the other places," he commented.

"That's probably all the magic in the air," she replied, giving the undead gryphon a slap on the hip. It whistled at her, and then vanished into the Realm of Shadows. It would find its own way back to Shadow Vault.

"I have to say, that was quite possibly the worst three days of my life, ever. Why didn't you just use garganta?" Grimmjow asked. His gloved hands were in the pockets of the sheepskin jacket she had got him. He looked… surprisingly normal, if one could disregard the piece of bone jaw on his face.

"I hadn't thought of that," Vellena confessed. "I'm not sure it would work here." Grimmjow glared at her. Then he grumpily pulled off his tuque and gloves (she refrained from laughing at his flattened hair), and complained about the heat. Dalaran was kept magically warm. Apparently after three days on a gryphon in the frigid Icecrown skies, it was too warm for Grimmjow in his winter clothes.

"Come on, I need to go to the bank, and then I need to visit the inn and see if they still have a room for me," she said. He 'hmphed' and followed her through the landing tower stairs and out into Dalaran proper.

The city was huge. Mortals of just about every race wandered its busy streets, going to the shops. Proud mages in elaborate robes walked purposefully to their destinations, looking like they owned the place. They pretty much did. Barkers shouted out calls from stalls. Around them rose the elegant towers of the mages. Grimmjow didn't bother to hide his looking around this time. She understood – Dalaran was a pretty interesting place, and the first visit was always stunning.

She caught him staring at a gnome warlock, or rather, his succubus, and tried not to giggle. "The half an hour or so of fun isn't worth losing your soul over," she said, giving his arm a tug. He looked back at her blankly. She giggled. "That's a succubus. They feed on mortals via sex. Many a warlock has found himself the slave instead of the master, due to a succubus."

"They're well adapted to securing their prey," he commented wryly. A hollow might see it that way, she reflected.

She made her way up the steps of the bank, Grimmjow trailing after her like a stray. He waited with surprising patience as she spoke with the teller, asking to see her ledger. It had been a while since she'd visited the bank, and she was a little surprised to discover what she still had. Apparently no one had come by to notify the bank of her 'death'. She exchanged some gear and withdrew some of her inscription supplies. The first thing she intended to do was to scribe a bunch of recall scrolls – the _correct_ ones this time.

Stuffing the supplies into her bags, she turned to Grimmjow. "We should open you an account."

"Why?" he replied.

"So you have a place to put things you don't want to lug around with you."

"What about the bags?"

"They have limits. Come on." She introduced the reluctant arrancar to the teller, a high elf woman whose eyes kept travelling to his mask fragment. It took half an hour to get all the paperwork done. To her surprise, Grimmjow appeared perfectly able to read the documents, and he actually read them before signing them. She hadn't been able to read anything in Hueco Mundo – the writing had been too different. But apparently he had no problems with the alien script.

"We look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Jaegerjaquez!" the other elf chirped after he'd signed the papers, and Vellena had forked over the start-up fee.

"Yeah," Grimmjow replied absently.

"Let's go to the inn," she said. He gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. As they arrived at the inn, they were greeted by the innkeeper, another high elf – most of the remaining high elves in Azeroth were affiliated with the Kirin Tor and lived in Dalaran. Upon seeing the innkeeper, she recalled that she had left her hearthstone back in Las Noches. Oh shit! Hopefully Szayel _never_ figured out a way to access Azeroth. That could be very bad.

She should probably get a new one, and get one for Grimmjow too. But first, find out about the room.

"Vellena Nightwind?" said the innkeeper after the night elf introduced herself. "Let me check my ledgers. The high elf gestured, a book appearing in her hands. She looked through the records.

"Ahh, yes, I have you recorded as renting a room on an ongoing basis. You're a month late on rent, though. If you want to keep the room you'll have to pay both last month and the next month. I have some mail for you as well. I will release that…" the elf met her eyes with a firm expression, "After you've paid for the month you're in arrears."

"How much?" Vellena asked. She wondered about the mail. She couldn't recall expecting any letters.

"90 gold," said the innkeeper. Vellena sighed. She had _just_ enough gold for that, and maybe a few meals.

"Can we get new hearthstones with that if I give you cash upfront?"

The other elf's eyes glittered as she considered it. "I suppose I could throw in two hearthstones if you paid in cash, on the spot. Will you be needing a second room?" She eyed Grimmjow.

"No, that won't be necessary," Vellena said. She dug in her bags and pulled out the 90 gold, showing it to the innkeeper, who smiled and took it, replacing the gold with two smooth blue and white hearthstones.

"They're already set for Dalaran," said the innkeeper. Vellena pocketed one and gave the other to Grimmjow, who examined it dubiously.

"I'll be right back with your mail," the innkeeper bustled off to her office.

"What's this?" Grimmjow asked, still looking at the hearthstone.

"It's a hearthstone. I have no idea who invented them, but they're one of the most wonderful devices in existence. Focus your energy into it, and it'll return you to wherever it's been set to return you to in a matter of moments, no matter how far away you are." She considered. "Unless you're in Hueco Mundo. It doesn't seem to want to work there," she commented wryly.

"Sounds useful," he replied, slipping it into one of his bags.

The innkeeper returned with a bundle of letters tied together with a brown piece of twine. "Here you go! Have a pleasant evening." She smiled at Vellena as she handed the bundle over.

"Thank you," Vellena replied, heading for the stairs that led to her room. She found the room key on her ring and unlocked the door, stepping in. The magical lights flared to life as she entered. Grimmjow followed, closing the door behind him.

"This is your place?" he asked.

"While in Northrend, yes. I have quarters in Acherus, but generally I prefer to stay here if I can."

"I can see why," he commented. The room was not lavish compared to some available in Dalaran, but it _was_ nice. There was a large, soft bed with a goose down comforter and pillows. A chest sat at the end, and there were several chairs, a table, and a desk. There was even an armour stand, which Vellena put to good use as she stripped off her plate. Grimmjow was removing his cold weather gear, exposing his Espada uniform.

She sat at the desk, untying the string parcel and going through the mail. There sure was a lot of it. Opening the first, she grumbled and tossed it aside. It was a get-rich-quick 'offer', written in very broken common. She turned to the next letter. This one promised her a free horse if she visited a certain address, also in broken common. She looked at the address – it was a seedy part of Booty Bay. She'd pass… next!

The next letter contained a note alerting her that her 'quartz crystal wand' was ready, and all she had to do to get it was send 500 gold to an address (this one in the Dwarven Quarter in Stormwind). She snorted. Her _wand_. _Riiiiight_.

"Anything interesting?" Grimmjow asked, sitting on the bed and watching her open the mail.

"Nothing yet, just… scams. I wonder who writes this shit. They must succeed _sometimes_, or they wouldn't keep doing it. It's not like parchment and ink are free," she said. Finally, she spotted a letter with the official seal of the Ironforge auction house. She'd forgotten that she had placed some stuff up just before embarking on her ill-fated delivery trip. She cracked the seal and scanned the contents.

Well… that solved her immediate financial problems. She just had… about three hours to get to the auction house before they decided she wasn't coming back and took the money from her sales. "I have to go to Ironforge, right now," she said, not looking up from the letter.

"Say what, now?"

"No time, come on." She got up, grabbing her sword belt and strapping it on. Grimmjow was reaching for his sheepskin. "Won't need that where we're going, trust me," she said. He dropped the jacket immediately, adjusted his zanpakutō, and followed her from the inn room. She locked the door hurriedly and started down the stairs. It was a good thing the portals were just a few minutes away.

"What's the rush?" Grimmjow asked. "Where are we going?"

"To the Ironforge auction house. Some of my shit sold while I was in Hueco Mundo, apparently; but they don't hold on to your cash forever. If you don't show up to claim it in a certain time, that's it. They take it."

"Oh. Where's this Ironforge?"

"On another continent. But don't worry. We'll take a portal," she replied.

"Portal?" he asked, just as they arrived in the portal room. She gestured at the glowing circles. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to the Ironforge portal.

"Here they are. Just walk through it!" She stepped through the portal, into the Mystic Ward. A few dwarves going about their evening business looked briefly as she appeared, and went back to whatever they were doing. Grimmjow appeared a few seconds after her, stumbling as he came through the portal. He looked around him.

"So why couldn't we do this earlier? That's better than garganta," he commented. "Hey, it's _hot_ here."

"There are no portals in Acherus. And it's hot because of the forges," she said. "They're always going in Ironforge. The centre of the city is a big pit of lava and melted metal."

"Huh."

"Come on, we need to get to the auction house." Once out in the main halls of Ironforge, she summoned Coldgaze and leapt into the saddle. Grimmjow hesitated only a moment before climbing on behind her. She reined Coldgaze, letting the deathcharger reach its full speed as she made for the Commons. It was a half hour's ride before she arrived in front of the auction house. They dismounted, and she sent Coldgaze back. She walked up the steps, greeting one of the functionaries.

"I'm Vellena Nightwind, I'm here to pick up some of my auction proceeds," she held up the notice. The functionary pulled the notice down to his face and read it.

"Right this way, Miss Nightwind," said the dwarf, leading them both to an office. Vellena and Grimmjow took seats in front of the desk as the dwarf sat in a tall chair on the other side. "I hope you don't mind, but we'll have to verify that you're who you say you are. We've had some problems lately with fraud and theft," the dwarf said, pulling out a crystal device.

"No problem," Vellena replied. She put her hand out. The crystal flashed blue as the dwarf passed it over her palm.

"Looks like everything is in order, miss. I'll be right back with your gold, if you just have a seat," the dwarf said, jumping down from his high chair. "You cut it pretty close, lass. Another hour and a half and that gold would have been ours."

"I'm afraid I was incommunicado for a month," she replied. The dwarf shrugged and left the room.

"Hour and a half, huh?" Grimmjow said.

"Yep."

"So that's why the hurry."

"Yep."

The dwarf came back, lugging a large sack of gold. "Here you are, Miss Nightwind. Pleasure doing business with you." Vellena took the sack, hefting the heavy bag up with ease. She managed to get it into one of the magic bags. She gave the dwarf a cheerful wave.

In that bag was over 3,000 gold. Before she had accepted the delivery mission, she had finished crafting an entire set of plate – all titansteel and very good quality. Since her own had been better, she had put it up for sale. She hadn't expected it to sell right away, but apparently it had. She whistled cheerfully as Grimmjow trailed after her, entering the auction house.

"Time to do some shopping!" she laughed. Grimmjow looked at her like she'd gone crazy.


	7. No One Steals from Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Grimmjow got to experience the joys of the auction house as Vellena bought him new bags (she put the old ones back up for sale), and gleefully went about purchasing other stuff that he didn't yet understand the purpose of. He scanned the crowd around them, which consisted mostly of short guys – he thought he recalled Vellena identifying them as dwarves and gnomes. Here and there were the odd human, night elf, and tall draenei, but mostly it was dwarves and gnomes.

Something tugged at his hakama, and he looked down to see a small female gnome with bright green pigtails grinning up at him.

"My, you're a tall one!" she said in a high pitched, squeaky voice. "You should probably see a healer about that." She pointed at his hollow hole, which was visible now that he was wearing his old, familiar Espada jacket.

"It's supposed to be like that," Grimmjow said, glaring at the small creature. She ignored his glare.

"When you eat, where does the food go?" she asked. If he had been in his release form, his ears would have been laid back in annoyance and his tail would have been switching from side to side.

"I don't know. I don't really care."

"You're grumpy! All I wanted was a friendly chat," she said. "Why is there a bone on your face?"

"Hey listen, I don't have time—" He broke off as he felt something strange. Pantera – where was Pantera? He grabbed for his sword, but it wasn't at his waist where it should be.

"He went that way with your sword, big grumpy!" the gnome chirped, pointing outside the auction house. How the hell had someone managed to steal his sword without his feeling it? He could feel Pantera moving away from him in the direction the gnome was pointing.

"Shit!" Grimmjow snapped, tearing off after the thief. Out in the commons he stared around, trying to locate his sword. This place was huge and unfamiliar. Precious moments passed before he located the thread of reiatsu from Pantera. He used sonído to cross the gaping chasm, skipping the bridge entirely. Once across the other side, he scanned around again.

Pantera had stopped moving, it was up the stairs ahead of him, past the open stone door. As he located the spot, he saw a dwarf exit the door. Grimmjow could sense traces of reiatsu still tainting the dwarf's hands. He growled. Spotting an alleyway nearby, he focused his reiatsu and took two sonído steps; the first took him to the dwarf, the second took them into the alley way.

He lifted the small man up by his collar, slamming him against the alley wall. A red cero flared in his hand as he raised it up to the guy's head. The dwarf blanched under his brown beard at the sight.

"I dinnae know ye were a mage! I'm sorry, here, here!" the thief struggled, pulling out a pouch of coins and waving it at Grimmjow. The arrancar narrowed his eyes and growled.

"What's going on back here?" came a gruff voice from the entrance of the alley. Another dwarf, this one in heavy plate with a cloth with the anvil design Grimmjow had seen all over the city across his chest. Some kind of guard or official.

"This man's tryin' ta rob me! Help!" screamed the dwarf he was holding against the wall. Grimmjow debated just letting the cero go right now and seeing the little fucker's brains splatter all over the wall.

"Looks more like he's trying to kill you, Karulf," said the other dwarf, with a sarcastic tone. So this Karulf was known to the guards then? That could be good or bad.

"Little fucker stole my sword," Grimmjow growled. "You gonna miss him if I blow his head off?"

"Hey, can it with the height comments," snapped the guard. "I won't particularly miss Karulf, but we got laws against that kind of thing, stranger. Let 'im down."

Reluctantly, Grimmjow let the cero dissipate and lowered the thief to the ground. The guard produced some kind of shackles and secured the thief. Seeing the dropped pouch of gold, he picked it up and gave it to Grimmjow.

"You should probably go get your sword back, stranger. Karulf's already fenced it, or he wouldn't have this. Try the weaponsmith next door," said the guard.

Grimmjow grunted, accepting the bag of coins. "I know exactly where my sword is. Do you need anything more from me?"

"Naw. Karulf's a known thief. A week in the brig cooling his heels oughta keep him out of trouble," said the guard.

"Hey, somma those coins are mine, I stol—uh I mean, I acquired them fair'n square," protested Karulf.

"Enough. We oughta just cut yer hands off and be done with it, Karulf," muttered the guard. "Come along now." The dwarf led the shackled thief from the alleyway. Grimmjow followed, turning left and going up the stone steps to the shop, where he could still feel Pantera.

"I want my sword back," he demanded, pointing at the blue-sheathed blade that was already hanging on the wall behind the counter. The shopkeeper eyed him.

"Ah, that fine blade will cost you 100 gold, sir," said the dwarf. "It's a particularly good quality blade, forged by my own pappy right here at the Great Forge."

"It's mine and you just got it from a thief named Karulf," Grimmjow snarled. The dwarf stared at him.

"Perhaps I could be persuaded to part with it for 90 gold," he said. Grimmjow's growl deepened, and he didn't bother to curb the deadly reiatsu that swirled around him. The dwarf paled. "80 then? That's my final offer?" the shopkeeper croaked, eyes wide. Grimmjow reached across him and grabbed Pantera – the blade half-jumped from the wall into his hand. The shopkeeper gaped at the sight. The arrancar raised his right hand, red light flaring.

"Alright, alright, it's yours, I believe you, take it!" gasped the dwarf, his eyes flying rapidly back and forth from Grimmjow's murder-filled eyes to the cero twisting in his hand, ready to be released. The arrancar's mouth twisted in a deadly smile and he let the cero fade away; that was twice in less than five minutes.

As he straightened, sliding Pantera back into its accustomed place in his sash, he sensed Vellena's familiar reiatsu entering the shop. "There you are. You disappeared, and I felt you over here," she said. She looked from Grimmjow to the terrified shopkeeper, and back to Grimmjow again. "What happened here?"

"Some punk thought he could steal Pantera," Grimmjow answered.

Vellena sniggered. "I'm surprised there isn't blood everywhere." The shopkeeper turned even whiter at her words. She looked over to him. "His sword is not too different from a Death Knight's Runeblade. I'd be a little more careful in what goods you accept from thieves next time," she said. The dwarf fainted.

"Che," said Grimmjow. "Finish your shopping?"

"Yeah. I'm ready to head back to Dalaran. You hungry?"

He considered. "Actually, yeah," he replied.

"I know a great place in Dalaran," she said, digging in her pockets until she produced that strange blue and white stone, twin to the one she'd given him. "Get your hearthstone out."

Grimmjow pocketed the bag of coins, finding the hearthstone. He turned it over in his hands, examining it. "What do I do with it?"

"Just put your energy – uh, like your reiatsu I guess – into it for a little while. Keep the flow steady and don't let anything interrupt you. It'll take you back to Dalaran," she replied. Her brows wrinkled as she stared at her stone. It began to glow with a green light.

Grimmjow shrugged and he extended a tendril of power into the stone. It felt warm in his hands, glowing green like hers had. He lost his concentration when she vanished beside him and the green glow faded. He tried again. Several heartbeats later, the world around him vanished. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and he felt almost as though he was being turned inside out, only far less painful than that sounded. Then the world faded into existence around him again as he reappeared in the Dalaran inn.

The stone in his hands was hot, almost enough to be uncomfortable. He slipped it into his pocket.

"Excellent," he heard Vellena say, and he turned to the night elf. "Don't try to use it again for a couple of hours at least. It'll be too hot. If you try to use a hearthstone too soon after using it the first time, it tends to explode. Wait until it's cooled down all the way," she said. He nodded. At least there seemed to be some faster ways of travelling in this world. If he had to fly dead gryphons everywhere or ride dead horses everywhere, he would go fucking crazy.

Vellena took him to some restaurant where the food was surprisingly good. Grimmjow had never been in a restaurant before, but he had to admit it beat the Las Noches mess hall. He didn't know what any of the stuff was on the menu, so he picked at random and was pleasantly surprised when he got a dish piled high with roast meat. 'Mammoth', the listing had said.

Vellena was using a knife and some spined instrument to eat her food. Remembering having to teach her how to use chopsticks, he copied her movements. She grinned when she caught sight of his struggle and helped him out, showing the correct way to hold this 'fork'. Once he got the hang of it, it wasn't so bad. He still preferred chopsticks.

They spent that night in her room in the inn, enjoying the comfortable bed. He'd had to spend two nights huddled into a tent after freezing his ass off on a glacier somewhere, and he wanted to make up for lost time. The luxurious bed turned out to be an excellent place in which to fuck Vellena senseless. Certainly better than his old Espada bed. He kept her up perhaps a bit later than he should have, considering that he was still healing and they'd been travelling for three days, but it was worth it, in his mind.

When he woke up the next morning, she had left. He was disquieted until he noticed a carefully penned note on the desk, addressed to him, resting beside a bag of gold. He picked it up and read it, the unfamiliar script nevertheless making perfect sense to him.

"Grimmjow,

I've gone to Acherus to pick up my gryphon. It's been on layaway for a little less than 8 months and I finally have the money. There is 500 gold in the bag, take it and go to the leather merchants. You should be able to get a decent set of armour for that amount. There is a map of Dalaran next to this letter.

~Vellena"

She wasn't going to give up on that armour thing, was she? He sighed. If it were up to him, he'd wear his Espada uniform until the day he died. He liked it. He'd designed it himself. Alright so the choice of colours had been severely limited, but that didn't bother him. The hakama were comfortable and the jacket showed off his well built physique.

But she'd been right about the cold weather gear, as much as he hated to admit it. Maybe she was right about the armour. Damned if he was going to get into plate, though. Too noisy, too bulky, too annoying all around. He had a healthy loathing for the stuff.

He grabbed the map and scanned it, noting that the inn was marked out already. Getting an idea of the layout of the city, he folded the map carefully and pocketed it. Time to do some exploring, he guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm out of the country for about a week and may or may not get a chance to post new chapters. Very sorry.


	8. Shopping Trip

By day, Dalaran was even more busy than it had been the evening before. People of all kinds bustled around, checking out the shops and going about their business. Grimmjow heard conversations in dozens of languages; oddly enough he found he could understand them. Well, hollows and shinigami both had the ability to understand any language from the living world, perhaps that talent had followed him to Azeroth. It certainly made for some interesting moments when two of those big, blue, horned women with tails and hooves – draenei or whatever, started discussing him in their own language as he passed by. He smothered a grin at their open speculation about what he might look like without clothes, and if his dick was as big as his magic (whatever that meant). At least they weren't staring at his hollow hole or mask fragment, like most others.

He found a stall where someone was selling rope and used some of the money from Karulf's pouch to buy a length of hemp rope. Vellena had neglected an important piece of survival gear for his kit. A second vendor supplied a riding crop, for a good price. The ass had tried to sell him one that was all fancied up and reeking of reiatsu, but Grimmjow had refused, insisting that he wouldn't need it for his purposes. He found another vendor that was selling street-food of some sort, and he bought some and ate it while wandering the market.

Vellena had suggested leather armour. He would have to find a merchant. He flagged down a passing creature, a large, tusked thing with teal skin and a spiky magenta Mohawk, and asked where he might find a maker of leather armour. The red-eyed man looked at him and muttered something about not being able to understand. Grimmjow switched effortlessly to the tongue the other had used and repeated his question. The other goggled at him for a moment, then pointed in a direction and muttered the name of a shop. Grimmjow thanked him and walked off in that direction. Behind him, the tusked thing muttered something about mages.

"Good afternoon, sir, how might I help you? Looking for something for a friend?" the shopkeeper, a human, greeted Grimmjow as he entered. As usual, his eyes went to the hollow hole, then the jawbone, then Grimmjow's face. Afternoon? Well, he guessed it was. He'd slept about 10 hours, after keeping Vellena up for most of the night.

"Actually I'm looking for something for myself," said Grimmjow.

"Ah, the tailor is on the other side of the square, sir, he would have goods of more interested to a mage—" the shopkeeper started.

"I'm not a mage. Why does everyone keep calling me one?" Grimmjow said, feeling slightly annoyed. Did he look like a dress-wearing, wand-slinging sissy?

"Ah, sorry sir… it's just with that blue aura of yours, well, you know. Arcane weilders, and all. You're practically blasting magic all over the place. And you're wearing a skirt," the man said. His eyes drifted back to Grimmjow's hollow hole.

"It's not a skirt, they're hakama. They're pants," Grimmjow grumbled. So others could see his reiatsu here? 'Magic', huh? That must be what their version of reiatsu was called. He wasn't accustomed to hiding it, but maybe he should start. It seemed that the denizens of Dalaran associated blue reiatsu with 'arcane' and mages. At least people were indicating that his power was impressive. That wasn't so bad, he guessed.

"Ah, whatever you say, sir. How can I help you?"

"I need armour."

"I sell custom leather and mail armour. Did you have a preference?"

"As long as it's not plate, I don't really care," Grimmjow said. The shopkeeper eyed him speculatively.

"What is it you _do_, sir? I might be able to help you better if I had a better idea of what your needs might be."

"I kill shit."

The human looked nonplussed. Apparently that wasn't a helpful response. "I see," he said. "Perhaps you are of the stealthy persuasion?" he arched a brow inquisitively, gesturing to a set of darkened leather armour.

Grimmjow snorted a laugh. That was a funny idea – him sneaking anywhere. Despite his panther adjuchas origins, he was not exactly something that someone could _miss_ coming. "Nope," he said. "But I _am_ fast. I need to be able to move fast and freely."

The shopkeeper seemed to consider, then he turned to an armour stand holding a suit of something that appeared to be mail. The scales were a highly reflective silver, with trimming in deep blue, and electric sparks seemed to fly from it randomly.

"This might work. Shamans and some hunters like it, at least the ones who like to get physical in battle. It's enchanted to enhance one's natural speed, strength and endurance. _And_, it's enchanted to keep the bearer the right temperature, no matter where they might be."

Grimmjow considered it. It didn't look too bad. He could never _hide_ in it, that's for sure, but he wasn't in the business of hiding. It wasn't something he would have designed for himself, but it might do. He'd have to fix the skirt, though. Maybe it could be altered to fit more like hakama. Get rid of the shoulder thing and shorten the sleeves and it might even begin to resemble his uniform.

"Can it be customized?" Grimmjow asked.

"To an extent. What did you have in mind?"

"Make the skirt more like hakama, and shorten the sleeves," he said.

The shopkeeper looked at the armour speculatively. "Yeah I guess that could be done. You'll be losing some protection to the arms, but with the right set of bracers, that shouldn't be a problem. You going to try it on?"

"Yep," Grimmjow said. He let the shopkeeper dress him in the mail, paying attention to how the suit of armour was fastened. There were six pieces to the armour – boots, shoulder thingies, the mail skirt, a chest covering, a belt, and gauntlets. After about 15 minutes, it was on. The arrancar took a few hesitant steps, and was slightly surprised to discover how easy the movements were. The mail garments had felt heavy until they were actually on him; now they felt no more cumbersome than his own Espada uniform. He grinned. He liked the boots better than his Espada boots. This wasn't all bad.

"There's a training dummy over there if you want to see how well you can fight in that," the shopkeeper interjected. Grimmjow looked at the device the man indicated. He drew Pantera. Without relying on any of his arrancar abilities, he attacked. His movements were satisfyingly fast, even for his high standards. There was a noticeable improvement to his speed, and as the dummy shattered at the blow of his zanpakutō, he was pleasantly surprised to find out that the armour did indeed enhance his natural strength. He smiled, looking at the splinters of wood and jagged metal that used to be a dummy.

"You're definitely not a mage, however much magic you have," the man said at Grimmjow's display of strength and swordsmanship. "I suppose it's good that I can get those cheaply, however I _am_ going to have to charge you for that." Grimmjow looked back at him, sheathing Pantera. He was satisfied to see a hint of respect in the other man's eyes. So he realized that not _all_ Grimmjow's speed and strength was due to the armour. Good. He began to remove the armour, letting the shopkeeper assist him.

"How much?" Grimmjow asked. After observing Vellena, he was starting to understand currency. Since dying and becoming a hollow, he hadn't had to use it, but he had vague memories of using coins and bartering. He didn't remember much of his human life, but he had a general understanding of some things.

"The dummy or the armour?"

"Both, I guess."

The shopkeeper licked his lips. Grimmjow had a sudden feeling that he was going to get gouged. "1,000 gold."

"I don't think so," said Grimmjow. "I doubt the dummy is worth much more than 10 gold…" he began, and noticed a flash in the other man's eyes – he'd arrived at the right price for the dummy somehow, "and the armour, while valuable, isn't _that_ pricy." What price should he name? If he remembered his bargaining correctly, the true price was probably in the realm of 750. He didn't have that much, however. Vellena had given him 500. Oh, there was that bag from the thief yesterday – Grimmjow had counted it earlier, even with what he'd already spent, it was just over 100 gold – Karulf had obviously had more ill gotten gains in there than just what he'd fenced Pantera for. He gave the armour another glance, remembering whenever Vellena suited up, she had… what were they called? Bracers. And a helm. "There's no bracers or helm with it, either," he said, hoping desperately that he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. "500 gold."

The shopkeeper choked, and Grimmjow hoped he hadn't just insulted the guy beyond his willingness to sell. So 500 was too low – probably the actual cost to construct the mail. "Impossible. You'll put me out of business. Besides, you wanted further customization, that usually costs _extra_. 900," the man said.

"I want reduction in the overall, not addition. You'll be saving some material, probably enough to create a small piece to sell at an inflated price. And we can skip the stupid shoulder thingies, I'm likely to shrug and put a spike through my head." Grimmjow eyed the man. "600." It was a gamble, and it was all he had. He felt annoyed.

"Don't insult me. That's fine workmanship there. Any shaman would be delighted to own a set of mail that fine. And it's hard to sell just pauldrons alone. 800."

"And it's colourful enough to scream out 'I'm over here, come kick my ass' in a fight. I might not be the sneak around in the dark sort, but maybe I don't want to be drawing every eye on the battlefield. 700."

"I can change the colour to whatever you want. 750, and that's my final offer."

Grimmjow had judged correctly. "Fine. Get rid of the mirroring – plain white will do. The blue edging can stay. 750," he agreed.

"I can do that. Let's see your money."

Grimmjow pulled out the bag of gold Vellena had given him and dropped it on the counter. He pulled out the other bag too, counted out 100 gold, and placed them on the counter.

"Here's 600. I'm guessing it's going to take a day or two to make those alterations, right? Plus you need to fit it to _me_. It fit pretty good but there was room for some improvement. Oh, and it needs _pockets,_" he stated. The shopkeeper nodded. "I'll bring the other 150 when it's ready for pickup."

"You have a deal," the human said, pulling out a parchment and a quill. "What's your name, son?"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, and don't call me son. I've got a couple hundred years on you," he said flatly. The man couldn't be more than 40 by the looks of him. Grimmjow, despite the fact that he looked late twenties at the _very_ oldest, could distinctly remember at least four centuries in Hueco Mundo.

"Whatever, Mr. Jaegerjaquez. Sign here, please." He seemed unperturbed by Grimmjow's age claim, although the arrancar could feel his speculative glance.

Grimmjow read the contract carefully, noting that it credited the 600 gold he'd already provided, and promised the delivery of the armour in two days time, for the remainder of the fee. It credited the 'purchase' of the dummy as well. Satisfied that the shopkeeper wasn't out to cheat him, he signed. The man whisked away the pile of gold, dropping the sack with 500 gold on a scale, then nodding to himself when it apparently came up the right weight.

He handed Grimmjow a duplicate of the bill of sale, and turned away from the counter. "Let's fit this armour, shall we?" the human said. Grimmjow spent the next hour and a half in the shop with various pieces of the armour off or on, while the shopkeeper used a greasy black pencil to mark places on the armour, and wrote notes on a notepad. The arrancar was fairly certain that in two days time, he'd have a perfectly fitting set of armour. Vellena could stop harping about it then. He wondered if he could get her to pony up the last 150 gold, or if he'd have to find some gold another way. How did people make money in Azeroth?

Before he exited the shop, he thought of something. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have any leather collars, would you? About _yea_ big, with a metal ring?" he asked, motioning with his hands to indicate the size he needed. The shopkeeper eyed his hands.

"Got a dog?"

"You might say," Grimmjow replied.

"Yeah I have a few collars. I can work pretty much any kind of leather." He bustled around behind the counters before pulling out a few collars. Grimmjow grinned. There were some spiked ones, smooth ones, different colours. Some had leather hookup rings, others had round metal rings or D-rings. A few had reiatsu—magical auras, he guessed. Impulsively, he settled on a thick, strong looking collar the colour of old blood, studded with inch long spikes, with a circular metal ring, and no magical aura.

"That one."

"That'll be 5 gold," said the shopkeeper. Grimmjow had enough, just barely. He didn't bother quibbling – he just dug in his pouch and bought the collar with a smug smile, waving farewell to the shopkeeper as he walked out of the store, collar disappearing into one of his bags.

He made his way back to the inn, finding the door unlocked. Inside, Vellena was seated at the desk, concentrating on a piece of parchment. A bottle of ink was nearby, radiating a strange power. Though she was no doubt aware of his arrival, she said nothing, instead dipping her quill into the ink and inscribing a purple line on the parchment. He watched wordlessly as she worked, the scroll in front of her gradually coming to take a meaning he could comprehend. _Return_, it said. She put the last finishing touches on the scroll and put the quill down, finally turning to face him.

"Welcome back, Grimmjow," she said. "Did you find anything you liked?"

"Yeah. It's being altered now, but it'll be ready in two days and I'll have to come up with 150 gold," he replied. She looked at him when he mentioned the gold, but she didn't seem upset.

"What did you get?" she asked.

"Some mail. It's pretty neat stuff, actually. Made me faster and stronger," he grinned. Maybe having to wear armour wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Ahh." She dug in her bags, producing a money bag and handing it to him. He accepted it.

"Thanks."

"No problem. _I_ am the one forcing you to wear armour, I'd better be prepared to subsidize it," she said. He chuckled at that.

"What are you making?" he asked, gesturing to the parchment.

"Recall scrolls. They're useful things, almost as useful as hearthstones. But you can only use them once. Here," she grabbed a small stack of them and handed them to Grimmjow. "Have some."

He picked the first one of the stack up and looked at it. Almost without his volition, he began reciting the words, only to be halted by Vellena's hand covering his mouth. Blue eyes met blue eyes as he gave her an asking glance.

"Don't read them until you're ready to use them, reading activates them," she said. He put his hand to hers and smiled, nibbling on her palm while he stuffed the scrolls in one of his magic bags with the other hand. She shuddered at the feel of his lips and teeth and gave him a hot-eyed gaze.

"Got anywhere you have to be?" he asked casually, letting her hand go.

"Not particularly, no," she replied. He grinned hungrily.

"Excellent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from my trip, and now my regular once every third day posting schedule will resume.


	9. Fun with Rope

Their clothes ended up on the floor with a fair degree of rapidity. Grimmjow eyed her with a purposefulness that sent a thrill up her back. There was something of the stalking jungle cat in his eyes, it always made her mouth go dry in anticipation when she saw that.

From somewhere he produced a length of rope and a feral grin. Vellena blushed at the sight, her face heating on remembering the last time he'd brought out a rope, right after regaining his left hand. That had been a good night.

Two paces towards her and his mouth was on her neck while his hands were behind her, rough hemp binding hers, his body pushing hers against the bed. He positioned her unresisting arms just _so_, expertly weaving and twisting the rope. He bound her arms together behind her back at the wrists. Once tied, his hands placed gentle pressure on her shoulders, pushing her backwards and down onto the bed. His mouth closed on hers and he kissed her. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, heart racing.

Something closed around her neck, not tight or uncomfortable, but unexpected. Her bound arms twitched as she instinctively attempted to reach up to her neck before remembering the rope. She opened her eyes as his lips left hers. She saw his sharp teeth as he grinned at her, blue eyes burning with lust. With one hand he reached under her chin to her neck and jingled something metallic-sounding, and she realized that she'd just been collared. The thought didn't bother her, surprisingly enough. In fact, it just made her feel hotter.

"You know what to do if it's too much, right?" Grimmjow whispered in her long ears as he wove the rope like a harness around her torso.

"Yeah," she replied breathlessly. If it got too much, say the word, and he'd stop. Hollow or not, he had honor. He enjoyed inflicting pain and she enjoyed taking it, but neither of them particularly wanted to break her. She hadn't had to say it yet, which was fine with both of them. The word she'd picked, she'd picked to tease him – 'Ulquiorra'. She wondered what the dispassionate Cuarto would think about being made into a safe word for Grimmjow's bedroom games. Grimmjow had thought it would piss the other Espada off, so he'd laughingly agreed to it.

His hardening cock was against her thigh as he leaned in to position her legs and tie her ankles together. The end of the rope went through the ring in the collar and she realized what this setup was for as he pulled it tight, forcing her knees apart and bending her double. She felt the rough fibres of the rope rubbing against her skin as she tipped to her side, immobilized. Every hard breath she took brought the feel of rope with it.

Still grinning, her arrancar lover tied the rope to itself in a simple, easy to release hitch, and turned away from her for a moment. From her somewhat askew vantage point, she admired his naked form as he bent over his gear, searching for something. The tattoo of his former rank was still on his back – she wasn't sure why he'd decided to keep it; maybe it was just a reminder. She could see the wall through his hollow hole as he straightened, before he turned back to face her. He was carrying his black sash belt and… what looked like a riding crop. Heat flooded her face at the sight.

Her eyes were fixed on his face as he stalked towards her, reminding her forcefully once more of a jungle cat stalking its prey. Stalking after _her_. All of stranglethorn had nothing on the feline intensity of Grimmjow. Dropping the riding crop right beside her, where she could see it, he leaned in with the sash and she soon saw nothing as he tied it around her eyes.

"I'd gag you too, but I want to hear the noises you make. I want to hear your pleas," he whispered conversationally into her ear, only a slight hitch betraying his own raging desire for her when he said the word 'noises'. She moaned as he bit the edge of her ear, not hard enough to make her bleed, but hard enough to ache tantalizingly. His hand ran from her buttocks to her thigh firmly, before coming down against her skin in a firm slap. He withdrew from her body, whereabouts unknown for the moment. If she had to, she would be able to tell where he was by sensing his reiatsu, but that would spoil the fun.

As one of the undead, Vellena could suppress pain, make it distant and endure amounts of it that would kill another mortal from the shock. In Grimmjow's hands she had learned that pain could be embraced as well, turned into pleasure. She moaned again as the riding crop snapped against her exposed buttocks, letting the electric jolt flow through her. She heard Grimmjow chuckle, low and smug. He was enjoying this. The crop snapped again, in exactly the same spot. She was enjoying this too.

Half the fun was in the fact that what he did was completely unexpected. A snap of the crop here, a forceful grab there, his hot breath on her neck, the brush of his mask fragment against her exposed side; every touch was a surprise, sending intense flares of desire through her. He moved her restrained body, positioning her bent over, face down, exposing her back, hands, and bottom. Her back stung deliciously as he whipped her hard enough to leave a mark. She panted, flanks heaving against the rope, and gasped when he whipped her sides too with fast, light strikes. At times the touch of the crop could be feather-light, other times he struck hard and furious. Vellena could hear his excited breathing. She could feel the desire radiating off of him in waves.

The whip hit the duvet beside her with a _thwup_. He pressed his heat against her back, she could feel the moisture from his arousal smearing across her hip. He bent over her, the fingers of her bound hands brushing his hard, smooth chest as he leaned in. Grimmjow tangled one hand in her hair, pulling her blindfolded head back gently. He closed the jaws of his hollow mask on the edge of her ear, this time the sharp teeth sank into her flesh softly, blood welling, before he released her ear. He was breathing hard as his other hand briefly met her fingers before trailing, nails like claws, down her back. She felt his cock jump at her ragged, drawn out gasp and moan.

"What do you want?" he demanded in a low, hoarse voice. "Ask for it."

"You. I want you," she groaned. Nails dug into her flesh as he turned her onto her back once more. His touch disappeared for a moment, then resumed as one hand repositioned her feet. She jerked in her bonds as something warm and moist brushed against her pussy. A breath of warm air passed through the fine thatch of dusky green hair. She felt teeth on the inside of one thigh, and his thumb and fingernails on the other, gripping hard enough to bruise. Those nails trailed down her leg lightly, inexorably, towards her moist cleft, while his mouth bit gently along the underside of her leg. She shuddered when he pushed two strong fingers inside her, futilely shifting her hips when he curled them within her slick depths.

He chuckled again, lips leaving her leg. She wondered how he could stand it – she knew he was as turned on by this as she was. His reiatsu was licking over her, pulsing every time she made a sound, every time she twitched. As his fingers slid inside her in movements designed only to torment, not fulfill, she groaned. "Fuck," she gasped. "Take me already, Grimmjow. _Please,_" she huffed out.

He growled, the sound sending shivers all over her body. "As you wish," he said, a low, urgent edge to his voice. His fingers left her, and he positioned her so she was almost half-sitting, her face near where her ankles were tied, bent double and exposed. One hand on her shoulder steadied her. She felt his rock hard member brush against her sex; he teased her clit with purposeful strokes, growling still. She shuddered. Then with a hiss, he pushed past her folds, penetrating her in a tormentingly slow, inexorable thrust. When he reached deep inside her, he stopped. With her crossed feet against his body, she could feel his hard breathing. She could hear it just fine.

He stayed like that for long moments. The angle and position put pressure on her pelvic wall; she could feel his every heartbeat, her insides pushed tight around him. She could feel every twitch of his cock inside her. He felt larger and harder than he ever had before. She twisted in her bonds, frustrated. He chuckled, and she felt that too. "Aren't we the impatient one?" How he could even talk right now was beyond her.

"Oh gods, fuck me," she demanded. He snarled in response and pushed his hips in a single hard thrust, causing a moan to escape her lips. Nails curled into her shoulder. She tightened her insides around him and was rewarded when he bucked against her in response.

"Oh shit, you're tight," he said. She shuddered at the raw lust in his voice, shaking inside. He groaned and pounded into her, hard and deep.

"More, please, _more,_" she moaned, and he intensified his assault. Every one of his breaths was half a gasp, just like hers, only lower pitched. He started growling again, the rumbling sound punctuated by his forceful movements. His fingers curled at her neck, under the collar, rubbing against muscles and tendons. The other hand left her legs, gripping her other shoulder hard.

Each thrust sent a bolt of pleasure through her entire body. Her skin burned where it made contact with his. The sound of his breath rasping out, the sound of his growl, the feel of his fingers on her skin, of his dick pushing into her, the rope rubbing against her… It was too much. She began to quake. At the feel of it, his nails dug into her again.

"Yes, oh yes, _Grimmjow_!" she shouted out his name as she came. He snarled, the sound turning into something like a garbled roar as she felt him twitch and pulse, filling her with his hot seed. He jerked against her, grunting, pulling her bound body tight against his own. As the flood of pleasure calmed, she felt lips on her forehead. He loosed the hitch that kept her folded over with one hand, gently letting her unfold. He freed her legs, letting them fall to either side of him. Still between her legs, he leaned across her, pressing her into the bed. He pushed away the blindfold as he leaned in to kiss her with a sigh. His eyes closed, blue lashes vivid even against the markings under his eyes. She returned the kiss. He looked… radiant, somehow, and far younger than a hollow a few centuries old had any right to look.

After a moment, he stirred, ceasing his kiss and opening his electric blue eyes once more. He grinned down at her, and lifted himself up. A few minutes later and he had loosed the rope harness, followed by her arms. The rope slid to the floor. He reached for the collar, but she stilled his hand.

"That can stay," she said. His eyes glittered as they searched hers, and he smiled. She could tell he was pleased, though he didn't say anything.

She shifted, moving to stretch out in the bed, unsurprised when he curled beside her. He draped his leg over her body, his hand tracing idle designs on her. She'd noticed that he seemed to enjoy just touching her. He had some kind of fascination with her purple skin.

"Well," he said, "that was fun."

"Nnnhmmm," she agreed wordlessly.

"You know," he began, "your superior might not appreciate lady what's-her-face's invitation, but I do. I appreciate that snowstorm too. You've certainly made the last month or so… interesting." He said. She chuckled in response. It might have been somewhat frustrating at the time, but the events that had conspired to bring her to Hueco Mundo were not something she resented. Not now that she was back in Azeroth, and with such pleasant company.

They lay next to each other for a little while, neither speaking. As their heart rates and breathing returned to normal, she became aware of the sweat coating her, the blood crusting on her right earlobe, and the fact that they both still smelled pretty strongly of sex. As nice as it was, she wanted a bath. There was a bathhouse nearby, one frequented mostly by Kirin-Tor mages, but open to the public. She'd done enough little odd jobs for them that she might even be able to get a discount getting them in.

"Want a bath?" she asked, rising.

"That's a good idea. No showers here either, hey?" Grimmjow sat up, following her off the bed.

"No, but I think they might catch on if we introduced the idea. I'll see if I can talk to a gnome, they'll build anything just to see if they can," Vellena laughed. "There's a bathhouse." He nodded.

"That'll do. Is it segregated?"

"Yes."

"Unfortunate." He leered at her and she grinned back. She shrugged on her clothes, and he did the same. It was funny to see him wear that odd underwear, but he seemed to prefer it. She'd given up on underwear after he'd destroyed hers, and hadn't replaced it yet. After a month of going commando, it didn't seem so urgent. The one piece she missed the most was a breastband, and her cuirass kept the girls in place fairly well, having been fitted specifically to her.

Dressed, she left most of her belongings in the magically secured chest in her room, bringing only herself, her twin swords, and the fare for them both. He left behind his bags as well, opting for just his uniform and Pantera.

"What do you think of Dalaran so far?" she asked him as they walked to the bathhouse. The crowds had thinned a bit with the coming of the evening, but there were still many people moving around. A lot of people called Dalaran home, or at least a place to stay.

"Nothing to do besides shop and wander, and everyone thinks I'm a mage," he grumbled.

"A mage?" She questioned.

"Something to do with my reiatsu," he muttered. Well, that might be the case. She smirked.

"If you're bored, I've heard rumors of a gladiator pit under the city, in the sewers," she said.

"Oh really now?" He sounded genuinely interested. "I might have to go check that out."

They arrived at the bathhouse, and Vellena paid the fare for both of them. Unlike the bathhouse in Acherus, this was open to the public and not frequented (almost) exclusively by Death Knights. There were well-secured magic boxes for people's belongings. She put her clothes and weapons in one, pressing her palm against the attunement crystal, which flashed blue, accepting her touch, before going red to indicate that it was in use. She hoped Grimmjow either figured out the locker system on his own or asked someone to help him, because theft _was_ a problem in any bathhouse outside of Acherus.

As she collected a towel and made her way to the bath, she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror. She stood in front of it, plush blue and purple towel in hand. Her empty hand went to her throat, feeling the collar. It was reddish brown, and studded with spikes. She smirked at the sight. A dog collar? He sure had some funny ideas sometimes. She noted the marks on her skin, rough patches where the rope rubbed her and the occasional bite mark and bruise. Turning, she looked at her back over her shoulder, seeing the lines left by his fingernails and a few stripes from the crop – they would probably go unnoticed by non-night elves, she decided, with a smile. She headed for the bath. The hot pool would feel nice on her skin right now.


	10. Why Didn't You Say So Sooner?

Grimmjow figured out the lock boxes easily enough – there were a few other men doing the same thing and he just copied what they did. He'd figure out how to get his stuff _out_ when the time came. He'd grumbled a bit when he'd read the sign indicating that all weapons should be locked away, but complied all the same.

He found the towels, and the soap (it was much nicer than the stuff back in Acherus, he noted), and made his way to the bathing pool. Pools, actually. There were two pools marked with symbols for 'hot' and two marked with symbols for 'cold'. He wondered why two, then he noted that one set of pools seemed to be frequented by races he identified as Alliance, and the other by races he identified as Horde. It appeared to be by choice, as he didn't see any indication that the segregation was enforced. There were a few men of other races he hadn't seen before; they appeared to choose whatever pool they felt like.

Well, Vellena was Alliance. And he looked mostly human, so maybe he'd better use the Alliance pool. He wouldn't mind a fight, but naked and unarmed in a bathhouse wasn't an ideal place for it. Placing his towel beside the edge of the pool, he slid into the warm water. It felt good. He sat there on the underwater bench for a few minutes, just enjoying the heat.

There were several other men in the pool with him, a couple of gnomes, a dwarf, a night elf, and one of those big draenei things. The gnomes and dwarf were chatting animatedly with each other as they soaped down. The night elf was ignoring everyone, content to lounge in the water by himself, eyes closed. The draenei was staring intently at Grimmjow. Grimmjow gave him the stink eye back. The huge blue man made a slightly affronted expression and looked away.

Satisfied, Grimmjow grabbed his soap and found the place where the water flowed away and cleansed himself. After he had finished washing his hair, he decided to try the cold pool. He ignored the eyes of the draenei as they followed him to the pool. Seriously, what was with that guy?

The cold pool was… cold. Grimmjow swam in it for a few minutes before he decided he'd gotten whatever health benefits were supposed to be present in a cold pool, and he got back into the hot one. There he relaxed for about fifteen minutes, before deciding he'd better go see if Vellena was done yet. He grabbed his towel and made his way to the change room. It turned out the lock box was as easy to open as it was to close – just put his palm on the crystal that locked it and it opened again.

As he was dressing, he noticed the draenei had followed him, and was again looking at him. A little fed up, Grimmjow turned to the guy. He wasn't interested in any bathhouse play right now, if that's what he was about. What did this asshole want? "What?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, stranger. Are you aware that you are _leaking_ magic?" the draenei said. His accent was thick, but Grimmjow had no trouble understanding it.

"I'm not a mage!" the arrancar snapped in reply.

"You're not a priest and you're definitely not a warlock," retorted the draenei. "Have you had no training, then?"

Grimmjow glared at him, then slid Pantera into his sash in a meaningful gesture. "Sure I have. I could turn you into fillet of draenei in a heartbeat," he growled.

"That's not the training I mean. I mean magical training. With the power you're leaking, you should really consider it. I'm certain someone among the Kirin Tor would be willing to take on an apprentice, even if that apprentice is already a grown man," the draenei told him. Apparently he'd said his piece, for he paid no more attention to Grimmjow after that.

Damnit. This was getting annoying. Grimmjow rolled his eyes. He was really going to have to learn how to pull in his reiatsu, if it was going to inspire practically everyone he met to make some kind of smart ass comment to him. In Las Noches, everyone radiated at least _some_ strength all the time – it was a way to warn others not to mess with you. He was not in the habit of hiding. What was ridiculous was the fact that he wasn't even putting out the power he _could_ when he consciously projected. All these people were getting all up in arms about what was essentially Grimmjow's _background noise_.

Grumbling, he went into the well appointed lobby. Vellena wasn't there yet. He sat on an elaborately carved stone bench and waited.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Grimmjow, Vellena had to deal with an annoyance of her own. The women's pools were also twinned, permitting Horde and Alliance to bathe separately. The owners of the bathhouse had long since learned that this was the most prudent arrangement, and that, combined with a zero-tolerance policy for aggression, kept the bathhouse fairly peaceable.

She slid into the Alliance pool gratefully, slipping her collar off and putting it on top of her towel. It wouldn't do to damage the accessory. She realized suddenly this was the first time he'd given her anything.

"Oh my, are you alright?" a high voice asked her in Darnassian. Vellena turned to gaze on another night elf, this one a few inches taller than her, with pale lavender skin and long white hair, and magenta butterflies surrounding her eyes. "Did someone attack you? I'm sure if you went to the magisters they would apprehend the ruffian!" the other woman said.

"I'm fine," she began.

"Oh, a Death Knight too. Don't worry, the magisters will help you. The Ebon Blade is well respected here," said the night elf.

"I'm _fine,_" Vellena growled.

"Here, let me heal you, I'm a priestess!" the white-haired elf said, raising her hand. Before Vellena could protest, a flicker of golden light washed over her. She felt the slightly sore spots fade away into nothing, and noted the bruises on her shoulder disappear entirely. "There you go!" chirped the woman.

Vellena sighed. "Thank you," she said with some reluctance, "but I was fine. There was no assault. The marks were from a _completely_ consensual encounter."

"Oh…" said the priestess, blushing as she finally caught on to what Vellena was saying. "Is that why you have a dog collar?"

Vellena felt like smacking her head. "Yes," she hissed. The priestess looked at her with wide silver eyes.

"I'm sorry… I mean—uh…"

"Don't mention it," Vellena sighed.

"I'm Kennana Brightleaf," the other elf introduced herself.

"I'm Vellena Nightwind," replied Vellena, automatically, reaching for her soap.

"Oh!" said the priestess. Vellena looked back at her. "I studied under you, three hundred years ago! Oh! You probably don't remember, do you?" The girl sounded hopeful.

"I'm afraid not. I lost a lot when I became a Death Knight," Vellena said, without malice.

"It wasn't… It wasn't _Markuritan_ who did that, was it?" Kennana asked breathlessly.

Vellena didn't see how her bedroom habits were any concern to this other woman, but she stifled a sigh and replied. "Nope. He died."

The other woman looked torn between relief and shock. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to remind—,"

"It's no problem," Vellena cut her off. "I don't remember him, so it doesn't hurt."

She didn't like that look of _pity_ that Kennana was giving her.

"Uh… you were both… very good teachers," said Brightleaf.

"Glad to hear it. The Light has left me completely. All that's left now is death," Vellena said casually. Again, Kennana looked at her with pity. The Death Knight stifled her annoyance. "All in all it isn't so bad. Killing Scourge is a lot of fun, and I have every reason to keep doing it," she said, wondering vaguely why she felt the need to defend her lack of grief, lack of memory, to this practically-a-stranger.

"Oh well, that's good then I guess. It's good to see you again, Pries—uh, Vellena. I really should be going, I have a companion waiting for me…" she trailed off.

"Ande'thoras-ethil," Vellena said as Kennana exited the pool. The other woman echoed her farewell and left the bathing room.

Vellena washed absentmindedly, trying to recall a memory – any memory, of the other woman. As when she tried to recall things from her life before dying, there were only fragments, flashes. She remembered a younger woman, with shorter hair and no tattoos yet. An impression of a bubbly, vivacious girl who was never able to keep quiet. That was all. The Death Knight sighed.

After she decided she'd soaked long enough in the bath, she decided to get out. Having dried, dressed, recollared, and brushed her hair (it was going to need cut, soon), she exited the change room to see whether Grimmjow was done. He looked up at her approach, looking somewhat grumpy.

"Have you been there long?" she asked as he rose to greet her.

"Naw, just a few minutes," he replied. "I'm getting sick of people asking me if I'm a mage though." Oh. So _that_ explained why he looked to peevish. She snickered. He glared at her.

"An eventful day in the baths, I suppose. I ran into a student of mine, from… before I died," she said. He wrinkled his brows. "She thought someone had raped me and was ready to go running to the magisters on my behalf."

At that, Grimmjow snorted. He reached out and rubbed the back of her neck briefly with a firm hand, before stuffing both hands in his pocket. "I dunno, you seemed to enjoy yourself a bit too much for it to have been rape," he said.

She laughed. "Let's go get some food, shall we? Then I think we should go see if that gladiator pit exists or not."

"I like that idea," he replied.

* * *

She'd never been down here, but it seemed the rumors were true. Under the city proper was another world entirely. Seedy looking humanoids eyed them warily as they descended the steps of the sewers. She noted some people she was pretty sure were rogues, and caught sight of a couple of warlocks arguing. There was even a necromancer – she wondered how he'd gotten into Dalaran without being sniffed out. His eyes slid across her dismissively, only to widen slightly when he got a better look at Grimmjow. She ignored him as they continued down into the sewer.

There was an inn, of all things. She really didn't want to think of what kind of food was served there, or what the quarters were like. Further in, there was a huge cavern. At the other end of the cavern was a wooden shanty and a huge grate in the ground, where people were standing, looking down. She saw gold change hands and heard cheering. The sound of combat brought them forward to investigate, and she realized that there was a fight going on in yet another pit under the grate.

A blood elf rogue appeared to be kicking the downed form of an orc, down in the pit. As they watched, a goblin came out, yelling something about a fatality fine if the elf kept it up. They saw the elf straighten, back off, and adjust his armour and weapons. The goblin led him away, presumably to collect his reward for successful combat. A trio of dark iron dwarves bearing a stretcher came out and carted off the orc. Vellena could make out limbs twitching, and one of the three dwarves – a female, cast some sort of healing spell on him.

Not more than a few minutes had passed before two new combatants emerged, announced by the goblin. There was a massive tauren bull in mail and a human in rather poor quality full plate. Grimmjow grunted at the sight, and Vellena cast a gaze in that direction. "That's like the armour I'm getting," he said. She knew he didn't mean the plate.

"The tauren is a shaman, I think. That warrior is going to hurt," she said. So Grimmjow was getting shaman armour? Well; she thought as she watched the massive bull swing his mace at the human, discharging electricity as he did; perhaps shaman mail was suitable for the arrancar. His fighting style combined fast, up-close attacks with devastating energy attacks. Shaman mail would offer pretty good protection, without compromising his speed or movement. She approved.

As she had predicted, the bout did not end well for the human. The shaman was just too well equipped, too skilled. The triumphant tauren was led away by the goblin, and again the dwarves came out to remove the defeated combatant.

The next fight consisted of a troll hunter and what appeared to be an undead shadow priest. This fight went on for a while, the troll's pet raptor falling first. Eventually the hunter won out, when the priest, riddled with arrows, yielded. When the dwarves came out to cart him off, the priest waved dismissively, the shadows around him dissipating as he snapped shafts and pulled arrows out of his body, then healed himself.

"That guy's kind of bad ass, pity he lost," Grimmjow commented. "I think I want to try this out," he said.

"Go ahead. I think you'll want to talk to one of the goblins over in the shanty," Vellena commented. She wasn't particularly interested in the pit (the Argent Tournament sounded more interesting to her, by far), but she wouldn't stop Grimmjow from having his fun.

"You gonna watch?" he asked.

"Naturally."

Grimmjow gave her a wild-eyed grin and stalked off to the shanty.


	11. Into the Pit

Grimmjow made his way up to the shanty, where there was a bored looking goblin manning a booth. Two muscular looking goblins with nasty smiles and large clubs stood nearby, obviously 'security' of some sort. Grimmjow didn't let their small size fool him – he could tell they were competent enough to deter most forms of 'trouble'. Maybe not _him_, but he wasn't there to cause trouble.

"Care to place a wager on our combatants?" the goblin asked as he approached.

"Actually I was thinking of _becoming_ a combatant," Grimmjow stated. The goblin eyed him, beady orange eyes flicking to his sword, his chest, his hollow hole, the mask fragment on his cheek.

"What are you supposed to be, some kind of battlemage?" the goblin demanded. Grimmjow tried to refrain from grinding his teeth.

"Whatever," he said, deciding explaining what an arrancar was would take too long, and probably be irrelevant to the goblin anyway.

"You wanna be a pit fighter, you better go talk to Boss Krinkleglint, over there," the goblin bookie stated, waving his hands dismissively in another direction. Grimmjow followed the gesture and spotted another goblin, dressed in some kind of black formal suit. He sauntered up.

"Yeah? Whaddya want? I'm a busy man," the goblin said as he approached.

"I wanna fight in the pit," Grimmjow said. Like the last goblin, this one eyed him speculatively.

"It's 50 gold to buy in for each match. If you win, you get 75 gold. That's at the first tier. If you keep winning, eventually you move up in gladiator rank, and the payout gets bigger," the goblin said. "It's 1,000 gold if you kill your opponent, mind you. Nothing lethal, we don't want to get shut down. The Kirin Tor turns a blind eye to us now because enough of them like to come down here and gamble, but that could change if too many people die. Got that?" The little figure grinned at him.

"Yeah," Grimmjow said. There was just one problem; he didn't have 50 gold on him. He'd left his cash back in the inn.

"Well? Show me your money," said the goblin.

"Actually…" Grimmjow began, but someone interrupted him.

"Actually, I'll be sponsoring him," said a deep, fluid voice from nearby. Both Grimmjow and the goblin looked. There was a dark-haired human dressed in somber robes of black and charcoal grey. His cold grey eyes were fixed on Grimmjow speculatively. The arrancar thought he recognized the guy from the walk down through the sewers. He wondered what this human wanted. Something about him told the hollow that this guy was formidable, and probably expecting something out of this. He narrowed his eyes at the whiff of old bone smell that seemed to surround the other man.

"I don't care who pays, as long as someone pays. 50 gold and he can fight," the goblin said.

The other man fished out 50 gold and paid the goblin. He turned to Grimmjow. "You can pay me back when you win," he said. Grimmjow gave him another weighing look, and nodded.

"You got a deal," the arrancar replied. No mention was made about what would happen if he lost, but Grimmjow was hardly expecting to lose.

"Alright, before I let you fight, you need to sign this waiver absolving our establishment of all damages should something untoward happen," said the Goblin. Grimmjow picked up the proffered parchment and quill and scanned it. There were some funny clauses that he couldn't understand – what was a 'revival', and why would he have to pay 1,000 gold if he needed it? But he signed it anyway.

"Mr… Jaegerjaquez. Right this way, please," he followed the goblin down a set of rickety wooden stairs, half wondering how the ill-made steps could hold up to the weight of something like that tauren. The pit smelled of mildew, sweat, and old blood. Grimmjow's nose twitched. In the stone ring lining the arena, combatants prepared for battles. Some of them cast glances Grimmjow's way as he followed the goblin.

"Alright. This here is Boss Chugger. He'll direct you to your first fight. Good luck, Jaegerjaquez!" the goblin said, before turning back for the stairs.

"Name?" the goblin identified as Boss Chugger demanded, his voice surprisingly deep for such a small creature.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Grimmjow said.

"Occupation?" asked the goblin. Grimmjow shrugged.

"I'm a little new in town. I'm not quite sure what you mean by that," he answered.

Like the other two, the goblin looked him over. "Mage," he decided. Grimmjow growled. The goblin ignored it.

"Hang tight, Jaegerjaquez. You'll be up after this fight," said Chugger. Grimmjow stuffed his hands in his pockets and observed the rather ridiculous battle between two gnomish men in dresses, both of them flinging some kind of kidō at each other. Blue energy flashed. So these were mages? He felt a little insulted.

Eventually one gnome won out over the other, and both exhausted combatants left the field. "You're up, Jaegerjaquez," Chugger said. "Get down in the ring."

Grinning in anticipation, Grimmjow jumped lightly into the arena, landing lightly in the sand. It was a 15 foot drop – nothing at all to an arrancar who could walk on the air itself. He looked up, seeing people crowding around the grate. He didn't immediately spot Vellena, but he felt her presence looking on. He winked in her direction.

Coming down one set of stairs into the arena was what felt like another Death Knight, one that was considerably less powerful than Vellena. He thought it might be human, but he really couldn't tell under that armour. Grimmjow almost laughed. He already knew most of the tricks this guy could pull. This was going to be _fun_.

The goblin introduced both combatants, and gave the signal for the fight to begin. Pantera was in the arrancar's hands in less than a breath, and he was bracing for the death grasp he was sure was coming. Sure enough, he went flying through the air. He didn't resist, instead readying his zanpakutō for a countering blow. The sound of clashing steel rang through the pit. Grimmjow used Pantera to lever the guy's sword away, loosing a bala with his left hand. The Death Knight took the hit of compressed reiatsu with a metallic grunt, taking a few steps back and letting his death grasp fall away.

Grimmjow crouched, sword out and in front of his body, left arm to his side. His opponent brought his two-hander down in an over-hand attack. Grimmjow noted no glow indicating that he was using runes. He smiled and grabbed the blade bare-handed. The other's glowing blue eyes widened as he realized the blue-haired man was not harmed in the slightest.

"You'll have to do better than that," Grimmjow laughed, yanking the sword out of his opponent's hands and tossing across the arena. He heard the roar of the spectators as he swung at the other guy's head with a mean left hook. His strike knocked off his helmet – the spikes and excrescences not even scratching his hierro. Yep, human. Male, with shaggy greenish black hair. He snarled at Grimmjow and attempted to land a punch. Using sonído, the arrancar stepped aside. When he tried to come at Grimmjow again, the blue-haired man sheathed Pantera with lightning rapidity and grasped the other, picking him up and throwing him against the 15-foot stone wall of the pit.

Spectators cheered as he flickered across the arena floor to slam the human against the wall again, right fist coming up to connect hard with the guy's head. Three hits and the guy stammered out something about yielding. Feeling a little let down, but mindful that he did _not_ have 1,000 gold, he released the other. His opponent slid down the wall into the bloody sand, one hand going to his no-doubt sore head. The crowd cheered once more, and Grimmjow looked up, giving his audience his best evil grin.

That was fun! But not nearly enough. He hoped his next opponent was slightly more challenging. With a whoosh of reiatsu around his feet, he jumped straight up the wall of the pit, forgoing stairs entirely. He sauntered over to Boss Chugger. That human from upstairs – the one who had paid for his first fight, was standing near the green humanoid.

"A decent first fight, Jaegerjaquez," the goblin said, handing Grimmjow a pouch of coins. Grimmjow accepted it. "This man has paid for your second fight, if you want to go again. You're up in another three fights."

"Yeah, I wanna go again. That wasn't enough of a challenge," Grimmjow said. He tossed the bag of coins to the human, who caught it deftly.

"There is no need, Mr. Jaegerjaquez. I've made some money off your fight, and I feel certain that I shall win more off your bouts before this night is over," said the man, tossing the bag back. Grimmjow eyed him doubtfully, but pocketed the cash nonetheless. "Suffice to say, you were worthy of the investment."

"Of course," said Grimmjow.

"If you don't mind me asking, that is a unique fighting style. I initially took you for a mage, but after your display of strength, I am not so sure. Where did you learn to fight like that?" the human asked. Grimmjow was pretty sure he didn't trust this smooth human, but what the hell. The guy had sponsored two fights.

"Hueco Mundo," he grinned at the other's arched brow. "It's a little far from here. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it."

"You're not lying," said the other man thoughtfully, and Grimmjow wondered how he knew that. "And you're right, I've never heard of it. I'm Mordanis." He introduced himself.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"If you would, Mr. Jaegerjaquez, what is the significance of the tattoo on your back?" That was it? The tattoo? Not the hollow hole, or the mask fragment? Grimmjow huffed a single laugh.

"That symbol says that where I come from, I am the sixth most powerful warrior." He could not miss the speculative glitter in the other man's grey eyes.

"Again, the truth. It must be an interesting… realm… you come from, Mr. Jaegerjaquez." The man suspected he was from another world, clearly. Well, from what Vellena had told him about the draenei and the outlands, demons, and various other things, maybe that wasn't such an outlandish idea to a lot of people here. Azerothians were clearly aware that other worlds existed.

"Jaegerjaquez, you're up," the goblin interrupted. Grimmjow flashed Mordanis a peace sign (it was better than the bird, he figured), and leapt into the arena sands.

His opponent this time was the rogue from earlier. Grimmjow passed a disconcerted moment when the guy vanished. He looked around, bracing for an attack. An unfamiliar scent nearby and a warning tingle in his spine warned him just as the rogue attempted to land a punch on his right kidney. Not caring that his hierro would have probably stopped it, Grimmjow shifted slightly to that the rogue's punch missed, shooting clean through his hollow hole. He grabbed the wrist that appeared and twisted, hearing a grunt of pain behind him as he broke the limb.

Grimmjow elbowed him in the face, then snarled when something pierced his skin, driving into his other kidney. He staggered forward a few steps, releasing the rogue's broken right hand. The wound burned a lot more than it should, but Grimmjow was still able to fight. Drawing Pantera, he turned to face his opponent.

His own blood was dripping off a green-coated, glowing dagger gripped tight in the rogue's left fist. Grimmjow could sense the magic in the blade, and surmised that that was how it had managed to make it through his hierro. The blonde man's right hand dangled uselessly at his side. His eyes were murderous as he met Grimmjow's cold gaze.

"You should take a bath, I could smell you a mile away," Grimmjow taunted. His opponent's face scrunched at the insult.

"Human dog," he spat.

"Arrancar cat, actually," Grimmjow retorted. The rogue gave him a confused look, but that didn't prevent him from dodging Grimmjow's slash. The elf side-stepped, attempting to circle around Grimmjow for another back attack. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes and growled. He parried the fast strike, but didn't expect the kick to the balls that his opponent followed through with. Even with hierro, that sucked. Grimmjow backed up after that, eying the rogue coldly. Broken arm or not, this guy was no pushover. The arrancar was moving slower than he desired – whatever was in that green shit coating the blade seemed to have taken the edge off his inhuman speed. Whatever, he was still fast enough.

Maybe not, he thought as he dodged a strike at his side, only to feel an odd numbness, followed by a tingling, then burning sensation, in a thin line down his side. Man, whatever was on that dagger was some nasty shit. Almost as bad as Loly and her centipede poison. He could really feel himself slowing down now. He twisted, flinging a bala at his opponent's good weapon hand. The terribly fast reiatsu bullet hit with a crack, and the rogue dropped his weapon involuntarily. He glared at Grimmjow, no doubt fully aware that he was about to lose this fight.

Grimmjow ignored the sweat breaking out on his own brow as the poison coursed through his veins, and flung a sonído-backed kick at his opponent's chin. He struck, and the elf went down on the sand, glaring bloody murder at the man who'd beaten him. Pantera's point swung underneath his chin, where Grimmjow could see an interesting bruise forming from the impact of his boot.

"Give up?" Grimmjow grated. The elf coughed and nodded, still giving the blue-haired man the evil eye. As the arrancar straightened and the medic team came running out with their stretcher, the crowd above rumbled eagerly. He flashed the crowd a peace sign and posed, grinning, Pantera resting over his shoulder, ignoring the painful burn of his poison-filled cuts. These theatrics produced a swell of sound as the crowd let its appreciation be known. He took the stairs this time, not feeling quite up to the jump. He wondered just how long that poison lasted, and if it was lethal. Considering the penalties for killing someone, he didn't think it was, but…

"Poison cure's 5 gold," a voice said, interrupting his thoughts, as he reached the top of the stairs. A stout dwarven woman with flaming red hair braided into a crown around her head and coal-black skin blinked at him, arms across her chest. "An' healin's 10," she added.

Well, why not? He had just made another 75 gold. He fished out 15 gold from his pouch, and handed it over. The chick did something with her reiatsu (he really needed to start thinking of it as 'magic', since that's what everyone else here called it), and the sick feeling left him abruptly. Then she did something else and he felt the slash on his side instantly disappear, and the puncture in his back vanish. Hells, he even felt some of the damage from the fight with Kurosaki vanish at last.

"Thanks," he said, wiping sweat from his forehead and heading back to Chugger for his winnings.

Accepting his winnings, he dug out 50 gold and dropped it in front of Chugger. "I'll have another go," he grinned.

"Alright, Jaegerjaquez. You're up in three," the goblin said, swiping away the coins. Grimmjow suspected that there was always a break of at least three fights. He didn't mind, it gave him a chance to catch his breath, look around. He was real glad Vellena had thought of this place. He just found his new favourite pastime.


	12. Friends and Acquaintances

Vellena enjoyed watching him fight. He seemed to enjoy being able to get down and dirty with his fists – she saw him just relying on his physical strength and hand-to-hand skills more often than not in the fights he had in the pit. Other than bala and sonído, he didn't really show much of his arrancar abilities. She privately agreed with his wisdom – it was good to keep _some_ secrets, especially when one was fighting for an audience. Not that he needed much more than bala and sonído, she mused.

After four matches, he came back up the stairs, catching sight of her immediately. He must have been looking for her reiatsu. She wandered over to him.

"That was fun," he said when he reached her, sliding an arm around her. She could see sweat beading his forehead. He seemed unharmed – they must have healed him down in the pit, because she knew he'd taken a nasty axe hit that last fight with the orc. "I'm coming back here tomorrow," he said.

She smiled. "Sounds good to me. I need to go to Shattrath for something tomorrow, so you won't have to wander around bored. How'd you do?"

"It would be 300 gold if it wasn't for the healing fees and match buy-in. As it is I'm at 150," he grinned, "I guess I won't have to borrow any more of your gold." She laughed at that.

"You can pay me back later if you really want," she said, good-naturedly, when he tried to offer her the bag of money.

They left the viewing grate and made their way back to the inn. She realized it was after midnight. The aurora was clearly visible in the skies above the city, but Dalaran was as warm as it always was.

"I'm going to go to the Argent Tournament in a few days, I think," she said, absently.

"Yeah I guess pit fighting isn't really your style, huh?" Grimmjow said.

"It's interesting enough. But I've been hearing a lot of good things about this tournament. I want to check it out."

"Where is it?"

"Not far from Shadow Vault," she said.

"Does this mean we'll have to sit on a bony-ass dead gryphon again for three days?" Grimmjow grumped.

"Four, it's a day's flight from Shadow Vault. Unless you got a better idea," she replied.

"Try garganta," Grimmjow insisted. She was silent, thinking. It might be possible.

Back in their room, they both made a beeline for the bed. It was late, but not so late that Grimmjow didn't keep her up later. Apparently he didn't have the patience for rope play this time, because he went straight into seduction mode upon reaching the room. Vellena had seen him like this a lot of times after they had sparred – she knew that fighting got him hot. She had to admit, seeing him in action did much the same to her.

* * *

The next day, with Vellena in Shattrath (wherever that was), Grimmjow spent almost the entire day in the pit, fighting. Chugger gradually began to treat the arrancar with a certain degree of respect, as his winning streak continued unbroken for the next six fights. After about his fifth total win, the payout got higher, but the opponents got more challenging. He was making 150 gold a fight by the time he faced his tenth total fight, the seventh of the day. It was that huge, spotted tauren shaman from last night, the one who had demolished the human warrior. Grimmjow grinned at the sight of the shaman. This should be good.

And it was… and Grimmjow lost his first fight. Reluctant to pull out _all_ his tricks - like resurrección or a cero – in public (who knew who or what was watching, after all), he took his licks, ending up on the sand with broken ribs and his left arm nearly crushed completely, scorched with electric burns and feeling pretty damn beat up, but remarkably happy. He'd given back pretty good, but not enough. Brosh Thunderhoof was almost as much fun as Ichigo Kurosaki, he reflected with a grin. Except far less of a berserker idiot. And Brosh's calm demeanor did something to prevent the kind of obsessive desire to fight Grimmjow had felt against Kurosaki.

The shaman surprised him by waving away the medics and helping Grimmjow to his feet, using Grimmjow's unbroken right arm. The huge tauren helped him from the ring, again waving away the medic. Gasping for breath, Grimmjow struggled to remain standing.

"Ilyanaya, healing!" the big bull called out. Grimmjow realized he wasn't speaking common. To his surprise, a mailed draenei woman came running out of one of the gladiator's cubbies, hooves clopping on the ground as she approached. She spotted Grimmjow, still being supported by Brosh's huge left arm, and did a double take. "Heal him, Ilyanaya," Brosh said.

"Yes, Brosh!" the woman said, using the same language the tauren was using. To Grimmjow's continued surprise, she began casting. Instead of the familiar yellow magic, the power that healed his wounds this time was green-tinged and reminded him of plants and living things. He gasped, feeling his ribs reset and his arm heal. The burns faded and he returned to his original state of health.

"I can't heal the hole…" she said in accented common.

"It's supposed to be there, don't worry about that," Grimmjow replied. Cracking his shoulders and testing his left arm, he watched wordlessly as the woman repeated her trick on Brosh.

"Thank you," the tauren said to her. She gave him a shy grin, looking nervously at Grimmjow. The arrancar wondered why. "Go get us a table for three at Cantrips and Crows, Ilya," Brosh said to the girl. She nodded and ran off up the stairs.

Grimmjow was a little confused. He'd been a little confused when Ichigo had saved him from Nnoitra, too, and this behaviour was just as bizarre. He gave the brown-eyed bull an odd look.

"You not bad for human. Good fight. I buy lunch," the tauren said in broken common. Grimmjow blinked.

"Uh, I accept," Grimmjow said, using the language the tauren had spoke to the woman.

"You speak orcish?" the tauren switched instantly.

"Yeah," Grimmjow replied.

"Good, it'll be easier to have a conversation with you this way. Let's go get some beer, huh? I'm Brosh Thunderhoof," the furry man said, proffering a massive, three-fingered hand. Grimmjow shook it firmly.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," he replied. Brosh gave a grunt of acknowledgement and started up the rickety stairs.

Half an hour later they were seated at that tavern in the sewer, with a large pitcher of cold beer and some bowls of stew. The tauren's bowl was as big as some stewpots. The draenei, Ilyanaya, sat silently beside Brosh, giving Grimmjow nervous looks. He noted the collar on her neck and smirked, saying nothing.

"I've been doing this for almost a year and you gave me the best fight yet, human," Brosh said, through mouthfuls of stew and gulps of beer. "Next time, don't hold back."

"Huh," said Grimmjow. He hadn't realized that anyone had caught on to the fact that he wasn't playing to his full strength. "It _was _a good fight," he agreed. "I'm sorry, tauren, but there's some things I don't want the general public to see me do." He tried the beer. It wasn't bad. The stew, on the other hand, he didn't want to think about. He definitely did not recognize the meat (he supposed that was to be expected), but there was something weird about the carrots.

"I suppose I can live with that," Brosh said with a disappointed sigh. Grimmjow decided he liked this big cow. There was something about his combination of cheerful violence and unexpected kindness that Grimmjow appreciated. "Only because I'm sure you're serious about that. If I thought you were just chicken shit, I'd beat you until you started fighting for real."

Grimmjow laughed. Yeah, he liked this guy, furry cow-man bigger than Yammi, or not. If he'd been in Hueco Mundo and this guy was an arrancar, he would make him his fracción, one of his nakama. He had no doubt about that. Brosh wasn't prey, he was a fellow predator, someone who Grimmjow suspected could easily become a pack mate.

"How long have you been in Dalaran?" Brosh asked conversationally.

"This is my third day," Grimmjow answered.

"How are you liking it?"

"It's a lot more fun now that I found the pit," he replied, and his answer had the jovial bull laughing in response.

"Where'd you come from before that?"

"Shadow Vault, by way of Acherus," he said. Both Brosh and Ilyanaya gave him odd looks.

"You don't look like a Death Knight," Brosh said.

"I'm not, my uh…" Just how should he quantify his connection with Vellena? "My woman is."

"You're dating a Death Knight?" the draenei asked, looking a little incredulous.

"Ilya…" Brosh's tone had some additional message in it, just for the woman. She looked sheepish. Grimmjow had realized fairly quickly that the tauren bull and the draenei were partners – in the intimate sense as well as the doing shit together sense. He suspected from the draenei's nervous looks that she had been worried about _Grimmjow's_ judgment of their relationship. It seemed there were some relationship taboos in Azeroth, and Brosh was reminding her that dating a Death Knight wasn't any worse than a tauren and a draenei.

"It's no problem. She's a good woman. A night elf. I've seen her fight; she's kicked the asses in of some pretty tough enemies. I've seen her go down covered in blood and come back up for another round. She's fought guys I wasn't even sure _I_ could beat," he said. "Plus she's a real tiger in bed," he added.

Brosh roared with laughter. Ilyanaya blushed, at least that's what he thought it was. She turned a darker shade of blue. Grimmjow grinned at the draenei woman, leaning in conspiratorially.

"_Her_ collar," he began, "has spikes on it." The draenei froze, turning a much much darker shade of blue. Brosh was still howling. A massive fist thumped the table in mirth, and Grimmjow moved fast to keep the pitcher of beer from spilling over. He refilled Brosh's glass and his own, offering to do the same to Ilyanaya, who shook her head, still looking mortified. Brosh raised his glass, gulping down beer. Grimmjow wondered if he should just hand over the pitcher and be done with it.

"Sounds like a good woman to me," agreed the tauren.

"She wants to go to that Argent Tournament in a few days, I'll probably go with her," Grimmjow said, refilling the tauren's vessel with the last of the beer.

"Eh, that riding around on horsies pointing sticks at each other crap is not nearly as much fun as pit fighting," Brosh said. Grimmjow was pretty sure he agreed, despite never having seen the tournament. "Hope I see you on the sands a few more times before that, Grimmjow. Come, Ilya. I want another match." The huge man finished off his beer and rose, giving the arrancar a cheerful wave. Grimmjow raised his hand in reply, then looked into his beer consideringly.

Hollows weren't supposed to like other people. They weren't supposed to have friendly feelings, or fall in love with alien night elves, or sit in scuzzy underworld taverns drinking beer with giant cow monsters… He was starting to wonder how much of conventional beliefs about hollows were actually true. And how much of those beliefs came out of the fact that Hueco Mundo was just so shitty, and a hollow's existence so soaked in necessary bloodshed and enmity that no hollow ever got a chance to learn differently. Or did coming to Azeroth somehow change him?

A scent of dry bones and quiet whoosh of fabric nearby, and he looked up. "Hello Mordanis," Grimmjow said as the other man took a seat across the table from him, ignoring the wreckage of lunch.

"Grimmjow, good day to you. Thanks to you, I am a much richer man," the human said.

"Putting your money on me, I take it?" Grimmjow said.

Mordanis smiled back, and there was something Grimmjow didn't trust about that smile. There was something about Mordanis that reminded the arrancar about Szayel, for all this guy wasn't a pink haired fruitcake, and hadn't yet said a word about science or his own intellect. The guy had done him a favour, yeah, but Grimmjow still though he might not like the human. He didn't let it show, however.

"Yes, and raking it in hand over fist, all except for the last fight. But no one bets against Brosh. He rarely loses," Mordanis said. "Nevertheless, my faith in you does not seem to be misplaced. You are a good investment, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"Hn," Grimmjow said, blinking slowly, thinking.

"Are you planning to fight more?" Mordanis asked.

Grimmjow figured there was no harm in telling it. "For the next few days. Then I'm going to go to the Argent Tournament, see what it's all about," he said.

Mordanis's smile widened. "Planning on competing? I hear they are finding champions for the fight against the Scourge."

"Hn," Grimmjow said. "I haven't decided. Probably not. I don't like mounted combat." Why bother? It was more fun to get close and personal, to feel your hands digging through the guts of your enemies, be covered in your enemies' blood. To be in the thick of it, not sitting tall on the back of some horse with a stick, acting all reserved. The horse is the one that does all the work.

"It seems a foolish gambit to me. With their advertisements all over the world, the Scourge will surely know and see them coming," Mordanis remarked.

"Yeah, announcing your intentions to your enemy isn't the most brilliant tactic in the world. It gives him time to counter them," Grimmjow agreed. "If you're going to announce anything, it needs to be something like 'I'm going to come and strangle you with your own intestines', or 'I've got an axe with your name written all over it.' Threats. Battle bluster. That shit's ok, because you can't divulge your tactics with it, but it gets the message across."

"You have a singularly interesting view, Grimmjow."

"Meh."

"So how are you getting to the tournament? That's a long flight."

"We're going by way of Shadow Vault, or at least, that's the plan," he stated, finishing the last of his beer. He kind of wanted to get back to the pit. He considered just getting up and leaving.

"Death Knights, Grimmjow? They say you should never trust the dead," Mordanis said. Grimmjow eyed him. "But maybe you don't care about that," the man continued, "considering that you're dead too."

Grimmjow said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge the other's words. He just rose from the table. "Got a fight coming up. Keep putting your money on me, Mordanis," the arrancar said, turning and walking from the table.

"Keep winning, Grimmjow." The man's reply pricked his ears. Mordanis knew too much. How, Grimmjow didn't know, but the guy had just reaffirmed Grimmjow's opinion that he was not someone to be underestimated. Szayel, and some of Aizen and Gin, in that guy. His instincts said tread carefully, and it wasn't often they said anything other than 'kill' when he faced an opponent. Though he hadn't sensed a shred of reiatsu, or magic, or whatever, around the guy, there was something there that still told Grimmjow he would be outmatched against him. A sixth sense, perhaps, for the Sixth.


	13. I Am Not A Mage!

Garganta had worked, much to Grimmjow's delight. And Vellena's too, she had to admit. Grimmjow trailed behind her, looking rather cheerful, and only clinking a little in his new mail. Probably unsurprisingly, he had succeeded in getting it modified to look a little more like his Espada uniform. The chest armour covered his whole torso, hiding his hollow hole, but the leg armour resembled his hakama very closely, and the sleeves were turned back, exposing dark blue instead of black. He had been very smug about the armour. At least he was wearing some.

He'd also paid her back, _and_ put away quite a bit of cash in the bank – apparently his win record in the gladiator pit was pretty impressive. Over 30 matches and he'd lost three, two of them against the same opponent, that big shaman. The third had been against a _paladin_, of all things. What a paladin was doing pit fighting was beyond her. Grimmjow told her that the pit boss looked like he was going to cry when he'd told the gobbo that he was going to be gone for a bit. He might, at that. The goblin-run pit was no doubt losing a lot of revenue with Grimmjow no longer bringing in spectators and gamblers.

At Shadow Vault, Vellena had posed a question that made him pause. "Do you wish to rune Pantera?" she asked, "there is a rune forge here."

He thought about it. The rune magic she had taught him back in Las Noches had been a lot of fun, after all. His hand went to Pantera's hilt – not to draw, but to commune. He closed his eyes. _No._ The sword's voice was clear as a bell. _That is not for us._

"Pantera doesn't want that," he said, with a shrug.

"As you like," Vellena's reply was easy; clearly it didn't bother her that he didn't want to follow in her footsteps as a Death Knight. Or rather, that Pantera didn't.

They went to the courtyard, preparing to fly to the tournament. She brought her newly acquired skeletal gryphon from the Realm of Shadow, and Grimmjow gave it a speculative glance.

"It's just as ugly as the other one," he said.

"It flies. Fast," she retorted. She didn't really care that it was ugly.

"Have you named it yet?"

"No."

Grimmjow looked over the gryphon, then he spoke. "Well, it's ugly, bone-headed, too skinny, probably not too bright, and it's got kind of an idiot grin going on there. You should call it D-Roy."

Wasn't that the name of one of his dead fracción? The one killed by the black-haired shinigami girl, the night they had first gone to Karakura. Grimmjow had a somber look in his eyes, but his face was smooth. She realized he wanted to do some kind of homage to his lost companions.

"D-Roy it is," she said. Grimmjow smiled, that sad look still in his eyes. He scratched the bony skull, obviously copying her actions, and she was a little surprised to see the creature lean into his touch and give a funny little whistle that sounded almost like a high pitched giggle. It never ceased to surprise her that dead gryphons could be… well… affectionate. Or deathchargers either, for that matter – Coldgaze always whickered when he saw her, and seemed to love her for more than just her sugar cubes.

"He's not so bad." So Grimmjow had decided the gryphon was a he? She guessed she could live with that. "Of course I'll probably think differently when I try to walk again tonight."

Vellena chuckled, climbing on to the gryphon's back. Grimmjow climbed on behind her. Perhaps he had resigned himself to riding, just as he'd resigned himself to wearing armour.

D-Roy launched for the sky, at Vellena's urging. Grimmjow's hands were just as tight around her waist as the other times they'd launched, but once they were airborne he relaxed, content to watch the scenery. She pulled a map out of her bags as they flew, scanning it. Checking her compass, she altered the heading.

"One good thing about this flight…" Grimmjow shouted.

"What's that?" she shouted back.

"We'll only have to do it once. I can garganta once I've been there," he said.

"I hadn't thought about that. Poor D-Roy, he's going to be bored."

"Story of his life!" Grimmjow replied. She laughed.

The flight wasn't as long as she'd thought. They arrived at the tournament in the early afternoon (although, this being Northrend and winter, the sun was already setting), and found their way to the Ebon Blade's representatives without trouble. They set Vellena up with a lance and pointed her in the directions of the training grounds. Grimmjow looked a little disappointed when they learned about the armistice.

Coldgaze seemed as thrilled as a dead horse could. It always seemed so mournful after a long separation from Vellena. Well, now it was going to get a lot of time with her. Training the deathcharger to tilt and charge was fairly easy, and the steed seemed to like it. Vellena was going to pitch her tent in the tournament grounds when Grimmjow tapped open a garganta and asked why they couldn't just go sleep back in Dalaran. She'd stared at him for a moment before wordlessly following him through the portal.

The next morning, they were back at the tournament. Vellena was up against her first opponent. Grimmjow was sitting in the stands, watching.

Vellena turned out to have a knack for jousting every bit as good as Grimmjow's knack for pit fighting. She quickly rose through the ranks, collecting purses of gold after each successful bout. Sometime during the first day, they learned about the rumors of the Black Knight, and how all his opponents vanished before meeting him on the field. That night in the inn, after a visit to the bathhouse and a tumble in the bed, Grimmjow commented.

"I'll bet that Black Knight is the Lich King's."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just because someone is your enemy doesn't mean he's stupid. I don't think the Lich King is stupid. These Argent Crusade guys have made it their goal to gather the best and the brightest to go up against him, and they haven't done it quietly. What do you expect him to do?"

She was quiet. "I think you're right," she finally said.

"Don't go up against him," he said, a finger on the collar at her neck. She said nothing, instead listening to the unspoken; the words he didn't say. 'Please don't get yourself killed;' and 'you're _mine_.' It was as loud as the 'please don't go' he hadn't said, more than a month ago in Las Noches, the night he lost his arm.

She took a soft breath, enjoying the possessive curl of his body against hers. "I won't," she agreed, softly.

* * *

He'd spent the second day she was at the tournament back in Dalaran in the pit, enjoying himself thoroughly and making Boss Chugger happy as a clam. Brosh and Ilyanaya lunched with him again, glad to see him back. Well, Brosh was, at any rate. Ilyanaya still had a tendency to blush and go speechless when she looked at Grimmjow. He suspected if he hadn't already been spoken for, he might have gotten an invitation to join them in bed. Vaguely, he wondered how that would have worked out. That tauren was _gods damned_ big. Ilyanaya's reaction wasn't too surprising – Grimmjow was used to being one of the sexiest arrancar in Las Noches.

Mordanis flagged him down after one of his fights. Grimmjow still didn't know how the guy seemed to get access to the pit – usually only gladiators or their followers (like Brosh's Ilyanaya) were permitted down there. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that the man paid his way the first few fights, and now was considered an agent or something. At any rate, Grimmjow had to put up with the creepy dude after a (successful) bout.

"Welcome back, Grimmjow. Or did you go? I thought the tournament was at least three days' flight from Dalaran," the dark-robed man said, smiling affably at the arrancar.

"We went. She's still there."

"She? Ah yes, your undead friend. I take it you must have a warlock friend at the tournament, to travel so quickly, then."

"Hn," Grimmjow said. He wasn't going to talk about garganta to this guy. This guy was far too nosy for his own good. Grimmjow sat on a stone bench, casually observing the current match, or as much as he could from this vantage point. Mordanis stood nearby. "Hearthstones help too," he said. That couldn't hurt. It was a normal form of travel, and they could easily use them to return to Dalaran.

"Yes, useful things those. The mage who invented them should be sainted. Azeroth is a big world. Instantaneous travel is such a _useful_ skill."

"Hn." Again, that hint that he knew about other worlds. Grimmjow wondered exactly how much this guy really knew. And why he continued to pester him.

"It is no longer quite as profitable to bet on you, Grimmjow. The bookies are not setting odds against you very high anymore. But I still make money." A clear subject change. Grimmjow accepted it.

"Sorry, I don't play to lose."

"I never expected you to. That would be… disappointing."

If Grimmjow had been in his release form, his tail would have been twitching in annoyance. He was suddenly glad he'd never revealed all his secrets in the pit. He had a feeling this man watched every fight, and he realized he _really_ didn't want this guy knowing more about him than he already did. Or Vellena. He _knew_ he'd never spoken to Mordanis about Vellena, but somehow the man knew, or implied that he knew, about his relationship with the Death Knight. He recalled how the guy had pointed out that Grimmjow had told the truth, back when he'd answered Mordanis's first few questions about himself. He knew how to tell lie from truth. He was suddenly glad he'd never attempted an outright lie. This guy would _know_.

His fight had come up shortly after, and Mordanis had left him alone for the rest of the day.

The day after that he spent mostly in the bleachers in Icecrown, watching Vellena knock idiots from saddles. Well, he might not want to compete in the Argent Tournament, but watching her could be entertaining. And that orc, Gorric Bloodaxe, was also competing, Grimmjow discovered. Maybe he would have another beer buddy.

But there was a distraction to his tournament viewing. Once again, there was someone _staring_ at him. That was one nice thing in the pit – people stopped staring at him like that, and nobody called him a mage anymore. He'd broken too many of his opponents' bones for that. With his bare hands.

After a while of the furtive glances of the other man – a human with a weathered face, longish iron-grey hair, and a goofy-ass moustache, wearing elaborate robes – he turned and glared. "Do you have a _problem_?!" the arrancar demanded.

The man met his eyes, unperturbed by the blatant aggression in Grimmjow's tone. "Why are you here, pup?" The man demanded. Grimmjow bristled at the other man's contemptuous tone and dismissive words, mentally cursing the armistice. Wordlessly, he pointed at Vellena, who was currently in full tilt towards an opponent – Gorric, as it happened. This was just a friendly match.

"Ahh, her squire, perhaps?" The man's tone was derisive.

"If a squire fucks his knight into a puddle of screaming bliss every night, then yeah," Grimmjow sniped. At the man's answering scowl, he continued. "That collar on her neck? _I_ put that there."

"Perhaps that's why no one's taught you how to control your magic. You've been too busy playing around with Death Knights to pay attention to your studies, _boy_. If you were my apprentice, I'd turn you into a sheep and shear you."

Grimmjow growled, letting his reiatsu curl around him, blistering the air between them. "Then isn't it just our luck that I'm _not_ your apprentice?" he said with sarcastic sweetness.

"Clearly. You would be nothing but a disappointment to me."

"I'm _not_ a mage."

"That's _patently_ obvious, boy. You have far too little _control_ to be a mage. Of course, you've been too busy fucking dead girls and running around with dinky swords in chain mail to bother learning anything worthwhile. All power, and no brains, what a waste."

Grimmjow could feel a vein throb in his forehead. He turned away, muttering something under his breath about the fucking armistice. He went back to watching Vellena.

"Oho… the _armistice_… fall back on that, will you, _boy_?" the other man's voice grated on his ear.

"Fuck off, kusojiji!" Grimmjow snarled.

"Why don't you come with me outside the grounds, and I'll teach you a lesson, huh boy?"

Grimmjow's face twitched in rage. He glared at this foolish _mortal_ who had dared bait _Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez_, (former) Sexto Espada, one of the meanest motherfuckers who ever lived. Slowly, his mouth twisted in a feral smile.

"You're on, fucker." Outside the grounds, away from the armistice, he planned on send this asshole's _head_ bouncing off the snow. Maybe it would roll all the way to Icecrown Citadel.


	14. Higher Learning

The mage (for that was clearly what he was) led Grimmjow part-ways down the glacier, well away from the tournament. Grimmjow had no concerns. He'd fought a few mages in the pit, and they hadn't lasted more than a few seconds. His insides thrummed with bloodlust. He kept casting murderous glares on the old man as they walked. The old man led on, not even once looking back at Grimmjow.

Suddenly they stopped, and the other man produced a staff. "This is far enough, boy," snapped the mage. "Prepare for a beat-down like you've never experienced before."

That was all Grimmjow needed to know. Pantera was in his hands and he was flying towards the about-to-be-dead mage with his full sonído speed. The mage turned towards him, or maybe just towards the sound of him, gesturing. The mage vanished just as Pantera came up for a decapitating swing. Grimmjow landed, alert for any sign of the other man. His spine tingled, and he whirled, spotting the ball of ice leaving the guy's hands just as he turned.

Grimmjow raised his own hand, loosing a bala straight for the oncoming frostbolt. It hit, the bullet-fast reiatsu disrupting the icy ball in a fury of mutual annihilation, sending shards of ice scattering. A few clinked against Grimmjow's mail, hardly a danger.

"Is that the best you can do, you dress wearing freak?" Grimmjow taunted.

"You're one to talk, blue-top. How much hair dye do you go through to get it like that? Or was your mother a gnome?"

"It grows like that and I don't _have_ a mother."

"That's probably for the best, she'd be very disappointed in you right now."

He flashed the mage an unimpressed look before vanishing with a tearing sound in another attack. Again, the mage vanished right before he was about to strike. Grimmjow stopped, turning around to face his opponent, only to get hit by some kind of shockwave from behind as fire flared all around him.

Feeling disoriented, he wheeled, cursing. Damn fucker hadn't done that jump away thing, he'd gone invisible! Even disoriented, Grimmjow still had the deadly reflexes for which he was known. He swung out with Pantera, grinning in satisfaction when his zanpakutō tore through fabric effortlessly and met flesh. Pantera grazed off ribs, but it was still a hit, even if it wasn't a kill.

Shaking his head to clear the last of the dizzy feelings, he struck again, grinning. His sword bounced off some blue barrier that had been hastily flung into place. Grimmjow had seen this before too, in the arena. Mages used their own power to protect themselves from harm, but it came at a cost – he'd seen more than one of them burn through their own power to the point where they couldn't mount an effective offense _or_ defense against him.

"Don't think your precious bubble is going to save you," the arrancar snorted.

With a smirk, he decided to oblige this mage, and launched a buzz of sonído-fueled attacks from all directions. The widening of the mage's eyes as he took in Grimmjow's true speed just served to thrill the arrancar all the more.

When the blue bubble finally broke a few seconds later, Grimmjow slashed the mage's left shoulder, following up with a nasty left hook to the face. The grey-haired man stumbled back a few steps before raising his right hand and giving Grimmjow an angry glare. A blast of freezing cold exploded outward, halting the arrancar temporarily in a shell of ice. As the mage disappeared, Grimmjow flexed, breaking the ice nearly effortlessly. That hadn't worked when that black-haired shinigami had tried it; it wouldn't work now. Unsure of whether the mage had jumped away or just become invisible, he concentrated a moment on sensing the sources of power near him. Sensing the mage behind him he spun around. The human was launching a fireball at him.

"Cero!" Red light exploded from Grimmjow's hand in a sound like the fabric of the world being ripped open. Cero met fireball. Fireball stopped, cero kept going. The smoke cleared. The mage was still standing there, looking singed, with some kind of icy shield glowing around him.

"All that ice doesn't stop you from being half-baked, you washed out old cross-dresser!" Grimmjow called out, then sidestepped the fireball that arced towards him.

With the ripping noise of sonído, he was once again on the attack. As his feet touched ground, his sword raised to strike the old man, ice exploded out from the guy's feet, trapping Grimmjow. With a whoosh, he vanished. Feet frozen and body still moving forward, Grimmjow hit the ice face-first. It sucked.

He picked himself up, tearing himself free of the ice around his feet with his inhuman strength, and looked around for the mage. Spotting the man, he managed to bala the next flying bolt of ice fairly easily. Then he steeled for another sonído takeoff. This was getting annoying. The mage gestured. At first, it didn't seem like anything had happened, but when Grimmjow tried to sonído, he discovered that he'd been slowed. Instead of the usual near-teleport, he was instead going at maybe a fast run. He stopped and charged up a cero. The speed of _that_ hadn't been affected much, at least when it left his palm.

At the sight of yet _another_ blue bubble, Grimmjow had to wonder where this guy got his energy from. Most of the mages he'd fought would have been beaten to exhaustion long time ago.

However, the slowing spell hindered him enough that he couldn't dodge out of the way of the flaming ball of ice that came screaming towards him, hitting him in the chest and knocking him over. The armour absorbed the worst of it, his hierro the rest. As he got to his feet, his eyes widened as an _enormous_ fireball arced into him. As the flames passed, he brushed soot from his singed mail and glared across the battlefield. Alright, so the guy had some power. Grimmjow was still going to kick his ass!

Moving once more, he discovered that the slowing had passed. Before the mage could react, the arrancar flicked in front of him, smashing through the last of the bubble with his left fist. Grabbing the mage roughly by the collar, he hauled the other man up near his face, charging a cero around Pantera's hilt.

"Any last words, fucker?" Grimmjow hissed.

The mage gazed back at him calmly, ignoring the growing red threat near his temple. "You know, you have a truly remarkable degree of power. I could teach you a lot of things," he said, conversationally. Grimmjow scowled.

"Like what?" the arrancar demanded.

"Counterspell," the mage wiggled his hands. Grimmjow's eyes widened as his cero vanished.

"Blink," the human spoke again, vanishing suddenly out of Grimmjow's grasp. As the arrancar turned around again (he'd long since noticed that jump thing only went in one direction – the way the caster was facing), the mage spoke again.

"Polymorph."

"Baaa!" replied Grimmjow. As the sheepy arrancar flailed on the ice (mountain goats and sheep could do it, why couldn't _he_? Stupid hooves!), the mage scooped up Pantera and began to lean on the zanpakutō as if it were nothing more than a cane.

While Grimmjow scrambled on the ice, the mage surrounded himself in a swirling pillar of power. To the arrancar's chagrin, the numerous wounds that he'd delivered to the mage began to close. Even as a sheep, Grimmjow could sense the enormous influx of power streaming to the mage. He was somewhat impressed – if that mage had been a shinigami or arrancar, he would have been pretty high ranked. Finally, the spell wore off and Grimmjow rose to his feet. He gave the mage a baleful glare, incensed at the mistreatment of his blade. "That's mine!" the arrancar snapped.

"Not anymore it isn't, boy!" the mage barked. "You can have it back when you've learned some manners."

"Fuck you, old man!" Grimmjow said. He _had_ to get Pantera back. He took one step towards the mage.

…And his hooves stumbled on the ice, and he fell flat on his wooly blue stomach. Not _again_! The mage's staff came down on his head with a thump, stinging. Grimmjow swung his horned head at the human viciously, frustrated when he missed.

A few seconds later, Grimmjow was himself again, and levering himself up from his stomach off the ice.

"We can keep doing this all day," the mage said. Grimmjow growled and halted, thinking of a way to get Pantera back. Cero was out of the question – he might damage his zanpakutō. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt if he played along for a little bit, seeing that the guy had stopped casting for the meantime.

"Alright asshole, what the hell do you want," Grimmjow said, sighing crossing his arms across his chest.

"What's your name, boy?" the mage demanded. Grimmjow scowled at him.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," he snarled.

"You've got potential, boy!" said the man. Grimmjow wondered why the hell he'd demanded his name if he was just going to keep calling him 'boy'. But the mage was still talking. "That was impressive power. And someone's taught you _something_. But clearly not enough. I'm going to remedy that."

Pantera clattered roughly to the ice beside Grimmjow, and the arrancar grabbed it needily. Deciding that he'd spent enough time as a sheep already today, he sheathed his sword and glared at the mage. Apparently the grey-haired man wasn't done yet.

"You will return here tomorrow afternoon, _without_ that stupid armour, and _without_ that idiotic sword, and you will be ready to _learn magic_. If you don't, I will _hunt you down_, and the humiliation I shall deliver will make this seem like _nothing_."

Grimmjow twitched. "The sword stays," he growled. The mage opened his mouth. "You hear me, shitty old man? This isn't just some 'dinky little sword'. This is a zanpakutō. It's part of my soul. Try to take it from me and I will kill you and eat your corpse." Grimmjow snarled, cutting off the mage's words. Then he realized what he'd just said – to a complete stranger, no less, and felt a little bit stupid. Not about the killing and eating him thing, but letting on that the sword was something more than just a weapon. And… had he just… tacitly agreed to come back and submit to this _human_?

"Fine, keep the stupid sword. But the armour has to go. Whoever heard of a mage in chainmail?" said the man. "And you will address me as Master Laric, or Master."

"How about I call you Laric, and you call me Grimmjow, and I don't bite your head off?" Damned if he was going to call anyone _master_. Even Aizen only got Aizen-sama to his face.

"That's no way for an apprentice to address his teacher," snapped Laric.

"I'm not your apprentice," Grimmjow insisted.

Laric took two steps towards the arrancar. Even though Grimmjow was at least four inches taller, the other man seemed to tower. His hand came up, gripping Grimmjow by his mail collar, and pulled the blue-haired man's face down to his own. There was something burning in the other man's eyes that Grimmjow realized he _really_ didn't want to mess with. Not like with Mordanis, who reminded him of all the worst of home-sweet-home Las Noches, but something _really_ powerful. Like Kenpachi in mage form, and just as crazy. He realized the mage had been _holding back_. Well, so had Grimmjow, but… Grimmjow eyed the guy with a glimmer of respect.

"You are _now,_" Laric said sweetly, grey-moustached mouth smiling.

"How about Laric-sensei?" Grimmjow grumbled.

"What's that mean?" Laric's eyes narrowed.

"It means 'teacher', where I come from. There's no fucking way I'm calling anyone _master,_" Grimmjow stated, calmly.

"That is acceptable." The mage released him. Grimmjow stumbled backwards, feeling a bit dazed. "Tomorrow, after lunch. Right here, where we are now. Don't be late, or you will _regret it_."

"Hai, Laric-sensei," Grimmjow said. He turned and stumbled back to the tournament, feeling _really_ weirded out. Laric might be a man in a dress, but he was one scary motherfucker.

* * *

Grimmjow passed the morning in the pit, having lunch once more with Brosh, when he remembered Laric and his instructions to not be late. Not really wishing to have the mage turn up at the pit embarrassing him in front of his friends, he muttered hasty good-byes that he hoped wouldn't be taken too amiss. He found a secluded spot in the sewers where no one was watching and opened a garganta straight to the glacier. He ducked behind a rock to shuck his chain, dumping it into a magic bag hastily. He hadn't yet had time to put his cold weather gear on around his Espada uniform when Laric rounded the boulder.

"_There_ you are, Grimmjow. It's about time you showed up. Ah good, your robes are unenchanted. That saves me the trouble of making you get some. I'm not a believer in letting students use enhancements," the mage said. He sauntered purposefully as Grimmjow turned to face him. Brown eyes flicked to Grimmjow's hollow hole, then back to his face. "And just what, precisely, is _that_?" Laric demanded acidly.

"Come on, old man, you didn't actually think I was _human_, did you?" Grimmjow snorted derisively.

Wordlessly, the mage gestured. To Grimmjow's slight surprise, a table and two chairs appeared right there in the snow. Grimmjow found himself steered into sitting in one of them, and Laric took the other.

"Alright, out with it," Laric stated flatly. Without removing his eyes from Grimmjow's, he summoned, of all things, a tea pot and two cups. Grimmjow's face twitched at the sight of the tea pot. "Well? Explain yourself," the mage demanded, pouring a cup for himself and a cup for Grimmjow, when Grimmjow did not immediately start talking.

"I'm an arrancar," Grimmjow said.

"That's supposed to mean something to me?" Laric lifted his cut to his lips. Grimmjow poured his out on the snow. Laric's brows furrowed in consternation, but he didn't say anything.

"It will when I'm done explaining," Grimmjow growled, and began _trying_ to explain. Trying, because Laric kept interrupting to ask questions. Finally, Grimmjow rolled his eyes and started from the _very_ beginning, from his fuzzy memories of his life and death, all the way through to his fight with Kurosaki and ending up in Azeroth with Vellena, and his most recent exploits here.

When he'd finished his tale, Laric took a last sip of tea and looked at him appraisingly. "That's a load of horse shit if I've ever heard it," the mage said.

Grimmjow rose abruptly from the table, chair toppling back into the snow. He was kind of pissed now. Not tearing his furious eyes from Laric's, he pulled his zanpakutō. He didn't really stop to think about what he was doing, what he was about to reveal. Laric's dismissive attitude burned something up inside Grimmjow that ate into his rational thought.

"Grind, Pantera!" he snarled, unleashing his resurrección in a blast of reiatsu. As the shockwave cleared, he glared belligerently at Laric, who was still sitting there with teacup in hand (the pot and table had been knocked over in the wake of Grimmjow's power), giving Grimmjow a somewhat startled look. Grimmjow put his ears back and lashed his tail twice, violently.

"Alright, maybe you weren't lying. Well, that explains your lack of training, even if it doesn't excuse it."

Grimmjow just growled.

"Get back the way you were, and get ready to learn. The first thing I'm going to teach you is to stop fucking blasting your magic all over like some stupid kid," Laric said.

Grimmjow forced his power back into the form of Pantera. He sheathed the sword. Then he pulled in his reiatsu and glared at Laric.

"If you could do that, why didn't you do it earlier?" demanded the mage. Grimmjow knew he was referring to the pulling in of his reiatsu, not his release.

"I told you. Where I come from, no one does that," Grimmjow didn't admit that he had to consciously suppress his reiatsu, and the moment his attention wavered, it slipped out. That had something to do with it as well.

"Yeah, well _here_, it's pretty much advertising the fact that you're an untrained idiot with more power than he deserves," snarked the mage. "Now, get ready to learn something, boy! If you do well, I might let you get a warming enchant on those robes."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and sighed. It was going to be a _long fucking day_. First Vellena and her rune magic (which he couldn't really use without a rune weapon, and which Pantera had made it clear wasn't going to happen), and now Laric and his magery. Oh well, if it would get people off his fucking back, maybe it was worth learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this chapter occasioned such a revolt that I ended up having to take it down and rewrite it. This version was the final result, and it was a lot more palatable to readers back then.


	15. Battle for Shadow Vault

And so the days passed. Grimmjow spent some mornings in the pit, some mornings watching Vellena, and every afternoon slipping off who knows where, doing who knows what. Vellena noticed how he seemed to disappear in the afternoons, although she didn't ask what he was up to and he didn't volunteer. He always seemed a little subdued when they met back in Dalaran. Sometimes she could swear he had a bruise on his forehead – always in the same spot, but it wasn't there every day. One day he had come home grinning like an idiot, and his only response to her query was "I finally kicked his fucking ass!" Who 'he' was, Grimmjow didn't elaborate.

When she asked, he replied that he was training. She recalled the singular obsession that the denizens of his world appeared to have with that activity, and nodded sagely. In Las Noches, people spent nearly every spare moment in 'training' of some sort or another. Obviously, he'd found someone to train with. She didn't mind – in her own way, taking part of the tournament was a form of training. She had already become highly proficient in mounted combat, and had won several pieces of armour that were definite improvements on her old armour. Not to mention the gold was nice, too.

A few times she skipped the tournament in the mornings to watch Grimmjow compete in the pit. She smiled to watch him in action, glee writ clearly in every line of his body as he fought. More often than not, he was the victor, but occasionally he was defeated. He didn't seem to be very bothered by it – in fact, he seemed to respect those few opponents who could stop him.

Indeed, he introduced her to Brosh, and she discovered that the tauren who had been the first to defeat him had become a good friend to him. She discovered Grimmjow spoke fluent orcish, by some strange miracle. Her own orcish was pretty abysmal, but between her bad orcish and Brosh's bad common, and the translations of Ilyanaya and Grimmjow, communication was happening. She'd been a little surprised at the devotion the draenei obviously felt for the cow-like shaman, but who was she to judge?

Much like what had happened in Hueco Mundo, their lives settled into a fairly predictable rhythm. Pit days, tourney days. Lunch with Brosh, lunch with Gorric. Grimmjow disappearing in the afternoons, always. Both of them getting stronger, learning new things. It was all so very, very normal, at least, as normal as the lives of two dead people could get. Perhaps she should have considered that a warning that things couldn't hold. Because one morning, they were awoken earlier than usual by knocking on the door of their inn room. Grimmjow muttered sleepily and stretched, making no move to leave the bed. Sighing, Vellena rose and wrapped herself in a terry robe, and went to answer the door.

"What is it?" she demanded tiredly to the high elf at her door.

"I apologize ma'am, but this message came for you, via mage mail. It is marked very urgent," the man handed her the sealed envelope. She noticed the seal bore Thassarian's own personal sigil, and the mark of the Ebon Blade.

"Thank you," she said, finding a gold coin tip and closing the door.

"What was that all about?" Grimmjow asked, muffled by covers.

"Mail," she replied, absently, cracking the seal. She scanned the contents of the letter. As she read, she forgot her sleepiness. "Shadow Vault is under attack," she said, wide awake, voice flat.

"What?" Grimmjow sat up. Sleep had made his normally unruly blue hair even goofier. He blinked at her. "Under attack?"

"The Scourge. Thassarian has sent this letter out to all Death Knights – we are to return to defend Shadow Vault if at all possible, as soon as possible. It's apparently more than the usual harassment."

Grimmjow grinned. "So does that mean we can wreak a little havoc?"

"If the Scourge is involved, you can wreak all the havoc you want. The more you kill, the better," she said. She began dressing, donning her new armour, grateful that she always kept her weapons in good condition. Grimmjow swung himself out of bed, dressing just as rapidly. Armoured, he strapped Pantera to his belt.

"Let's go," the arrancar said, tapping open a garganta. She could see his excitement. She understood. Both in the pit and on the tourney grounds, they were discouraged from ever fighting at their true strength. There would be no restrictions against killing against the Scourge.

They stepped into the cold air of Icecrown to the greeting sounds of a pitched battle. She could smell the death in the air. Hell, she could feel it. A passing commander recognized her and directed her to a mounted wing led by another commander. She summoned Coldgaze and prepared her lance. Grimmjow followed close behind. The commander, one Ysoola, welcomed Vellena and gave Grimmjow a furrowed-browed look.

"Do you have a mount?" the human Death Knight asked.

"No need. There isn't a horse living or dead that can outrun me," Grimmjow told her, mounting up behind Vellena. The commander merely nodded, signaling her wing into formation. Some of Vellena's tournament runs had included group formation with other Death Knights; she took her indicated place, beside the familiar form of Gorric Bloodaxe. The orc turned to greet them both. Then, the wing was charging forward, into the fray.

Abominations swung vicious hooks from saronite chains, laying about with all three fists. Geists leapt at riders, attempting to unhorse them. She heard the soul-chilling shriek of banshees in the press of combat. Everywhere, Scourge creations of all kinds attacked. Knights of the Ebon Blade and their allies charged, in formation and out of it, struggling valiantly against the horde of undead. Vellena's wing encountered a pack of ghouls. Lances couched, their deathchargers pounded forward, scything through the ranks of the ghouls. Grimmjow held on to her.

"You guys are getting murdered from the air. There's flying shit everywhere," he yelled. "You've got some air support but it isn't enough. I'm going up there."

Before she could say anything, she felt the warmth and weight of him behind her vanish as he launched himself into the air. There was no time to spare to watching him – she silently wished him good hunting and drew her sword, swinging with her left hand at the ghouls that were trying to flank the formation. Her wing wheeled, and she went with it. Breaking ranks in this mess was a sure bet for dying. But she smiled when she started to notice the rain of dead flyers on the battlefield.

Grimmjow ran across the air, using sonído to flash up to a gargoyle and bisect it effortlessly with Pantera. Grinning wildly, the arrancar took out flyer after flyer with abject glee. After about the fifth gargoyle, it seemed that his enemies took notice of him. They stopped being simple targets and started becoming opponents, attacking him in groups and attempting to circle or flank him.

Laughing like a madman, he jumped straight upward, spiraling, taking out six of the stupid things seeking to ring him from above. This was fucking awesome! He put his sword through the head of a seventh, Pantera jerking cleanly out of its skull. He spared a moment to glance at the battlefield below, spotting Vellena more by her reiatsu than by sight. She was doing fine. Her formation was leaving a patch of clear ground and corpses in their wake.

Instinct made him sonído from his place, whirling as he came to a halt, just in time to see blue fire bathing the area he had just been standing in. His eyes followed that plume of fire to its source – the jaws of a huge, skeletal dragon. Finally, a worthy opponent. He brandished Pantera. The undead dragon winged towards him, clearly targeting Grimmjow specifically. Massive jaws snapped; enormous claws lashed out at him. Grimmjow dodged them, Pantera cutting through bone and tooth as effortlessly as it had gone through gargoyles. He could feel his zanpakutō's unadulterated joy, fully matching his own.

Once more, his finely honed combat instincts saved him as he avoided a second wash of flame. Two of them? Someone had apparently decided he was serious. Time to return the favour. He zig-zagged in towards Number 1 at his fastest speed, going straight for its bony, narrow neck. Pantera flashed. He encountered resistance, but pressed with all his inhuman strength. The dead dragon's head went flying from its body. It started to drop like a rock. He zipped out of the way of Number 2's avenging flame, halting long enough blast one of his trademark crazy-fast ceros right in its face. One cero wasn't enough to kill it. It turned a singed maw in his direction.

One cero wasn't enough to kill it, but two ceros and a fireball were. Grimmjow chuckled, watching the re-dead creature plummet, flaming; taking out a waddling cluster of abominations as it hit.

He didn't realize there was a third dragon until its claws curled around his body. Startled, he jerked in its grasp, attempting to free himself. It had his arms pinned. It was dragon strength against arrancar strength, and the dragon had the advantage of leverage. He was being raised up. The massive head was swinging around to greet him, vicious intelligence burning in the red pits of flame it had in place of eyes. It opened its mouth.

Somehow he shifted his arms – not to lift them but to swing Pantera, slicing his own palm open. He flicked it upwards, aiming at the dragon's face. "Gran rey cero!" There was a massive explosion of power as his sky-blue cero obliterated the dragon's face and kept right on going, punching through the clouds that were gathering above the battle. He swore portions of the battlefield stilled at the massive outburst.

Well, he'd killed the dragon, but he realized as it started to drop that he was still having a bit of a time getting free of its claws. Whoopsie. That ground was getting awful— With a resounding crash, the (now very dead and rather headless) dragon hid the ground. Grimmjow grunted at the impact, struggling to push away the bone claws that still gripped him. Then he rolled his eyes and blinked out. Maybe Laric was good for something after all.

No rest for the wicked. Before he could get airborne again, mobs of undead were swarming him. He swung Pantera, taking heads, limbs, and other assorted body parts, attempting to walk free of the tide of enemies. A cero flashed from his hands as he attempted to clear a path through the mess. Ice flashed out from his feet and he started to run.

Something wrapped around his neck with a click, and reflex action had him beheading the geist that was leaping away from him. His hand went to his neck to pull away whatever it was, as he flung another fireball at the rushing ghouls filling in his cero path. At least, that was the intention. As his fingers closed on something still wrapped around his neck, he was vaguely concerned to note that the reiatsu wasn't really coming. He tried to cero. Same thing. Ok, now he was really concerned. And fighting for what very well might be his life.

His strength and skill with Pantera unaffected, he lashed out viciously with his zanpakutō at the oncoming hordes. Sonído wouldn't work. Bala wouldn't work. Cero wouldn't work. None of Laric's tricks worked. And he was no closer to a death coil now than he'd been back in Hueco Mundo (though he didn't realize that he probably didn't want to be death coiling the undead anyway). Desperately, he tried his last trick, his resurrección.

"Grind, Pantera!" he roared.

Instead of the expected shock wave, he received… a full body tackle by about 10 ghouls. Grimmjow went down under a pile of struggling undead flesh. With terrible strength he fought back, managing to claw himself to the surface, Pantera gripped tightly in his hand. Then something collided hard with the back of his head, and everything went black.

Vellena saw the first dragon hit the ground. The whole battlefield did. She saw the second one hit, too. And then she looked up, eyes widening at the flaring blue cero and realized that it was Grimmjow who'd been doing the killing.

Three dragons. Show off. Then she realized he was in its claws, about to hit the ground. Much of the battlefield was halted at the moment, watching the titanic struggle. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Grimmjow suddenly appear (that wasn't sonído – sonído wasn't a teleport) several yards from the corpse. A milling crowd of undead was closing in on him rapidly. He used cero, then flung something that looked very much like a mage's fireball at the undead.

She watched without comprehension at the geist leaping elegantly over the heads of its fellows, something shining in its hand. But she felt the sudden disappearance of Grimmjow's reiatsu as that shiny thing was transferred from the geist's grip to his neck. And then she saw him go down under a press of ghouls.

"Shit!" she screamed. She almost broke ranks to go in after him, but a sudden resumption in the Scourge's attack on her own battalion occupied her attention for several precious seconds while she defended herself and her wing cleared a little space. She was able to look back in time to see a herd of geists leaping away from the scene with the limp body of her arrancar lover clutched in their hands. They were heading straight for something, she anticipated their trail. A hastily-erected Scourge teleporter platform, manned by a lich… She swore again, watching helplessly as geists, Grimmjow, and lich all vanished in a flash of green light.

Then she was back to fighting, and there was no time to mourn if she wanted to live to avenge Grimmjow.

The battle went on into the night, finally ending in the wee hours of the morning, when the defenders of Shadow Vault managed to push back the Scourge. The enemy forces were in retreat. Vellena had survived, somehow, with the wing she'd joined. It was more or less intact.

With a cold and heavy heart, she made her way back to the hold. She hadn't the energy to dismiss Coldgaze, who trailed along after her like some kind of undead puppy. She found an unoccupied bench inside the hold, sitting and pulling off her helmet. Coldgaze lipped her hair as she sat with her gore-covered, gauntleted fists in her plated lap, staring off into nothing.

"Knight Vellena," a familiar voice caught her ears.

"Commander Thassarian," she replied, voice hollow, not looking up.

"Your companion fought bravely. He will be sorely missed. I am sorry for your loss."

What could she say to that? "I'm not entirely sure he's dead."

The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick. Thassarian sighed, an icy, grating sound. "We cannot afford to send a rescue mission to find out. We have taken losses. We were caught by surprise today, but every indication we have suggests that there will be other attacks in the next little while. No-one can be spared. I am sorry, Vellena."

She lowered her eyes to the floor.

"I understand."

Thassarian walked away. Vellena felt more than saw him go, as fixed as her gaze was on the dark stone floor of Shadow Vault.

"Vellena…" that was Gorric's voice. She looked up again. The orc sat beside her, silent for a moment. "I saw him go down. I'm sorry."

There was a feeling inside her, an empty, terrible loss. She'd felt an echo of it in Las Noches, when she had seen him lying in the sand. This was worse. Far worse.


	16. Interrogations

Grimmjow opened his eyes, head throbbing. Wherever he was, several things were evident. It was pitch dark, he was terribly uncomfortable, he had just a bare trickle of reiatsu, he couldn't feel Pantera _anywhere_, and there was a godsawful stench in the air. He shifted – or tried to. As awareness returned fully to him, he realized he was in a sitting position, hands behind his back, bound together. His legs were also bound to something. Oh great! Tied to a chair! _Soooo_ original. The natural next step would be the bright lights to make him squint and flin—oh, ha fucking _ha_. He flinched from the light.

He couldn't hear anything, and couldn't see yet, but he was aware that there was someone else nearby all the same. Another scent, over the layers of death-scent permeating the air. A familiar scent of old bones…

"Mordanis," he said flatly, voice rough with disuse. He coughed to clear his throat.

"Very perceptive, Grimmjow. I must admit I am a little surprised and pleased to discover that there's a brain hidden in that idiot pit-fighter exterior you present to the world." The voice was familiar, yet different. Hollow, dry, _cold_, but there was that same fluid quality from before.

He was starting to be able to make out his situations. Dank, crowded room. Stereotypical bright light shining on him. Tied to a chair… yep, nearly naked – just his fundoshi left. Strange, ominous implements on the walls. Floating captor… hey, wait a sec… floating? His eyes flicked over to Mordanis. A skeletal creature, dark robed with blue light flaring at its feet, gave him a skull-grin. Red light in the eyes, that light he'd come to learn was Scourge light. Lich, he thought the term was. Bad-ass spellcaster. Damn smart. _Fuck_.

He'd _known_ the bastard wanted something from him. He just hadn't guessed it to be _this_. Grimmjow strained at his bonds, hearing chains rattle. No good – Mordanis had witnessed his strength many times in the pit and knew all about it – the chains were something other than steel or iron. Saronite, maybe. Or titansteel. And his reiatsu was gone. He couldn't blink out of _this_ one.

"I admit, I was a little surprised when you started casting _mage_ spells, considering how emphatic you were in insisting that you weren't one. But fortunately, the device you wear around your neck can counter _that_ too," Mordanis said.

"Mordanis," Grimmjow said again. "What do you want?"

"Silly boy! I consider myself a master at my craft. I know every kind of undead there is. Wights, varguls, specters, flesh giants... _liches_… I know them all. Imagine my surprise when I see, wandering around in the Underbelly on the arms of one of the Lich King's wayward Death Knights… a form of undead I've _never seen before,_" the lich's voice trailed off in a hiss.

"You're a conundrum, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Mordanis floated closer, grabbing Grimmjow's chin with a bony talon and forcing his gaze up to the lich's own. The creature tilted his head to the left, exposing the fragment of jawbone on the arrancar's right cheek. Icy claws gripped it, tugging, not gently. Grimmjow's eyes watered at the pain. "An unknown undead – not one of _ours_. Immensely powerful. Why, a few of _you_ on the battlefield, and we might just flatten _cities_. I had to know more."

Seemingly satisfied that the mask fragment wasn't coming off any time soon, Mordanis released his jaw. Grimmjow struggled to get his angry breathing under control.

"You're from another world. I know that much," the lich continued. Grimmjow tried unsuccessfully to dodge the exploratory hand heading straight for his hollow hole. The arrancar grunted, eyes wide unseeing, mouth slightly open, at the agony of claws from the hated other in his hollow hole. "I haven't yet figured a way to access it." He dimly heard, through the pain. The lich withdrew, back turning to Grimmjow. The blue-haired man stared daggers of loathing at the undead.

"I might not have to. If I can find out all your _secrets_, turn you to the service of our _Master_… Well, perhaps I can duplicate you. Taking you was a little more difficult than I anticipated, but… I think you'll be worth the sacrifice of three dragons."

"You can't mean to tell me," Grimmjow gasped, recovering his breath, "that all this was just a feint to grab _me_."

"Hardly, my dear friend. You were but a secondary objective. The primary objective was to retake Shadow Vault."

Vellena! For the first time, he spared a thought for something outside his situation. He hoped she was ok. He didn't ask. He was pretty sure the lich wouldn't tell him, if Mordanis even knew. He didn't even ask about the status of the Death Knights' fortress. Again, it wasn't the kind of question he could expect to get an answer he could rely on.

"Now… how about you tell me a little bit about yourself, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. What are you, hmm?" Mordanis turned back to face him.

Grimmjow glared at the lich. "Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

"Ever the vulgar, swaggering brute. What a waste. With some discipline and focus, you could be one of the most powerful beings in Azeroth. Instead, you squander your power, competing in pointless pit fights for some paltry coin and trailing after your Death Knight lover like a dog in heat. Disgraceful."

Grimmjow said nothing. This guy was the motherfucking monologue king.

"I saw you fighting out there at Shadow Vault. _That_ was impressive. Why, you showed me things I've never seen before. A very _interesting_ power. You obviously enjoy killing. As part of the Scourge, you could indulge in that all you like. We don't balk at killing here. There's no 1,000 gold penalty. Instead, you will rise among our ranks, getting the glory and recognition you so richly deserve. Sixth? You could be higher than that here. You could sit at the Lich King's right hand, _feasting_ on the souls and bodies of your fallen enemies." The lich neared, bending over, flickering gaze staring into Grimmjow's eyes.

"Just… give me all your secrets… Give yourself to the Lich King… _Surrender_…"

Grimmjow jerked as a crawling sensation began _in his head_. It felt like fingers in his brain, digging, searching. He snarled, thrashing. With all his will, he pushed back against the mental invasion. He squeezed the fingers _out_. Eyebrows wrinkled in a furious scowl, he glared his hatred at Mordanis, pushing the lich right out of his mind.

"Strong willed, strong willed. No matter. You will join us, or we will break you, and _then_ you will join us. I assure you, you will enjoy it far better if you come _willingly_. I leave you to think about our conversation."

The lich floated towards the door, exiting. The light went out in his cell. Grimmjow breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it to be temporary at best. He had a feeling that he was in _deep shit_.

* * *

Some time later – five and a half hours by Grimmjow's pretty accurate, Hueco Mundo-trained internal clock, the door opened to his cell. The lights came on again, this time dim. Grimmjow almost burst into laughter at the sight that greeted him. _Almost_.

Boy, these guys sure weren't afraid to pull out all the stereotypes, were they?

A tall, very shapely woman swayed into the room. She wore red and black robes, with a high, stiff collar framing the back of her head. Perfectly coiffed, platinum blonde hair curled around long, pointed ears. Ruby red lips pouted in a face of flawless, alabaster skin. Red eyes glowed at him. The blood elf carried a whip – of course.

"A guest… how nice…" she said in a bored tone. "It's been so long since I've had a … play… mate…" She tilted her head and pouted her lips, fluttering her eyelashes. She couldn't be more transparent if she'd turned into a pane of glass.

Despite himself, Grimmjow chuckled. The elf smiled, something he was sure was supposed to look dangerous and tempting at the same time. He smirked back at her.

"I am Lady Caillette Shadowblaze. You may call me… _Mistress,_" she purred. Grimmjow rolled his eyes. What was it with people always trying to get him to call them master or mistress or other shit like that? It was getting to be almost as old as 'hey, you're a mage, aren't you'.

"You know," he said conversationally, "Vellena's tits are bigger."

She arched a long brow at him. "Ah yes, your night elf doxy. Well, many men will agree that the … other… white meat has its appeal," she said, apparently unfazed by his insult.

"This is _really_ stupid, you know. I've seen this shit before. You and Mordanis are both idiots if you expect me to roll over and bark on command at the sight of a pretty face in a dress."

"Oh, but I'm so much _more_ than a pretty face…" she raised something up. It looked like a syringe. He'd seen Szayel use them on other subjects before, and he had a sudden feeling no good could come of this. He wasn't very gratified to discover how right he was.

He tried uselessly to twist away, but she got him with the needle all the same. Pressing down the plunger, she injected him with … whatever that was. The injection site burned. That burning sensation spread rapidly to the rest of his body. He suddenly felt hot, then very cold, then hot again. He realized he could feel every hair on his head, every slight movement of the air in the cell against his skin, the chair underneath him, where the chains touched his skin… his sense of touch was… heightened.

_There's a point to this and I'm really thinking I'm not going to like it._

"You have a choice, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Answer my questions, and I'll be _very_ good to you." She ran gloved fingers over his chest. He flinched at her touch. It felt _good_. He was disconcerted by the feel of the blood rushing to his face as he flushed.

She took a few steps back, withdrawing her hand. "Refuse to answer, and I will _not_ be good to you." The whip cracked suddenly, the lash licking across the same place on his chest where she'd just touched. Pain, far disproportionate to the blow (which shouldn't have affected him at _all_), seared through him.

He glared at her.

"I can assure you that I will enjoy myself either way. How much enjoyment you experience is entirely up to you," she said. "Now then. I will start by asking a simple question. Where did you come from?"

"Shadow Vault." The whip cracked against his left cheek. He gasped. His eyes watered.

"Wrong answer. You came from another world. Hueco Mundo," she snapped. Well damn, if she knew _that_, why did she ask him in the first place? "Where is this Hueco Mundo?"

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? "It's another fucking _world_, what do you want me to do, point it out on a map?" he snarled. Stupid questions deserved sarcastic answers. The whip flashed out twice. Ouch.

"How did you _get_ here?"

"I don't know. I was unconscious at the time—gkk!" he sputtered as she grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back, hard. Hardly enough to do any real damage, but with whatever drug was burning through his veins right now, it managed to hurt like a sonofabitch. Every follicle burned like it had been lit on fire.

"These are singularly unhelpful answers, Jaegerjaquez. It would go far easier on you if you decided to cooperate. Here is an easier question. What is your kind called?"

"I'm a hollow, of a variety known as arrancar," he said. The hand in his hair released him, trailed a gentle touch down his neck, over his larynx. Fingers splayed as her touch continued downward, brushing against his nipple before leaving his body. He twitched, this time not in pain.

"Better. Now, what is the name of the necromancer that raised you from the dead?"

Grimmjow couldn't help himself. He laughed. If he'd ever needed proof that he was in another world, that right there could stand as such. Oh, the assumptions! Even if he had been 'raised from the dead' by someone else, what good would that information do her? His laughter was interrupted when she punched him in the face. She hit like a girl, but that didn't matter right now. It still hurt.

"I won't ask twice," she snarled.

"I'm sorry, _mistress_," he made the term an insult, "but I don't have that information." Well, technically it was true.

"How can you not know that? Every undead knows the name of the one who raised them, their master. Nevermind. His name would make it easier to contact him. We will find another way of doing so."

She still assumed that he had been _created_. Well, he mused, Aizen might fit the bill to an extent. The shinigami was the one who made him arrancar, even if he didn't create Grimmjow himself. But Grimmjow wasn't going to volunteer that information. Yeah, this shit hurt, but he'd lived through worse. Torture an arrancar, hah.

She asked many more stupid questions, to which he gave many more sarcastic replies. Half-truths, incomplete answers, or even the outright truth, which she couldn't comprehend. He spent a lot more time in pain than 'enjoying' her touch. Most of her questions were so entrenched in her incorrect assumptions that they couldn't even be answered. He quickly realized that she was _stupid_. She just couldn't quite seem to comprehend that he was _from another world_, that things were _different_ where he came from.

Finally fed up, he responded to one of her idiot questions with his opinion on her intelligence and she kneed him in the hollow hole. He passed out.


	17. Why Hello There, Lich King

The worst thing about being unconscious was what it did to his sense of time. When Grimmjow finally regained his senses, he was a little annoyed to realize that he had no clue how long he'd been out. His room was dark again. Not quite an hour passed before the door opened again, and the lights came on. Mordanis, and a rather diseased looking gnome bearing a tray of instruments.

The lich said nothing to Grimmjow this time; instead, he merely ordered the gnome around. Take a blood sample. Take a sample of hair. Take a nail clipping. Take a sample of _skin_. Scrape the bone fragment. Take a sample from the inside of the hole. (_That_ one fucking sucked.) Take a saliva sample. The gnome never appeared to miss the fingers he lost to that.

Grimmjow, in return, also said nothing. He just glared, and tried not to show his discomfort or pain. Samples collected, both the lich and the gnome left, lights going out again.

Hours passed. Grimmjow slept through some of it, less than comfortable but bored enough not to care. A terrible sensation woke him after the seventh hour. Someone was doing something to Pantera! If he'd felt pain at the hands of Shadowblaze, this was worse, and he _could not_ escape to the oblivion of unconsciousness. It was as if something was being etched onto his _soul_. It went on for _hours_. Grimmjow screamed himself raw. In all that time, no one came.

Finally, the terrible agony stopped, leaving him with a lingering inner soreness. Sweat dripping from his body, he slid into blessed unconsciousness.

He woke up again when someone entered his cell. The lich again. "Where is Pantera?" demanded Grimmjow, instantly alert. "Where is my sword?"

"That old thing? I was less than impressed with it at first – so plain. But it makes a fine rune weapon," Mordanis said. "Don't tell me you _felt_ that? My research indicated that there was a connection, but I never expected one so strong."

Rune weapon… that pain had been the runing of Pantera. Grimmjow grit his teeth. He felt… bruised inside, raw and bleeding. Violated. Now he understand why the sword had not wanted this. Neither he nor Vellena had truly understood what was being offered at the suggestion to rune the sword. Pantera had known – his soul reacting on an instinctive level, perhaps.

"But that's not why I'm here. I just thought you might like to know, the Lich King is coming to see you," Mordanis said, before gliding from the room once more. The Lich King. Himself. Grimmjow didn't know whether to be flattered or worried. He _did_ feel a twinge of curiosity. He'd finally get a chance to see this guy, this dude who had an entire world afraid of him.

The reality, when it arrived several hours later, didn't impress Grimmjow at first. Another human – big fucker, isn't he – encased in ominous black plate. Glowing blue eyes fixed on him, face not visible behind the threatening helmet. Then Grimmjow became aware of the _power_ radiating from this being, from the massive, frigid sword he wielded.

The Lich King's gaze burned into his eyes. Again, Grimmjow felt that sensation of mental invasion. He struggled against the grip of the Lich King's mind and was overwhelmed completely in a matter of seconds. Naked and exposed, he merely endured in pained silence as the other man riffled through his thoughts.

"_**A pleasure to meet you, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez,**_" he heard the echoing voice in his mind. _Charmed_, he thought, acidly. Laughter boomed; the arrancar was unsure whether he was hearing it in his ears or his mind or both, but it hurt.

"_**Now, just what is it that Mordanis has brought me, hmm?**_" Grimmjow pushed against the invading mind once more as the Lich King began delving through his memories, starting with the fragmentary remnants that were all that remained of his life as a human. The arrancar's whole existence flashed before his eyes at the Lich King's bidding. "_**How very interesting. You're not a new kind of undead at all. You're merely dead! How novel. And truly from another world… Shadowblaze is an idiot.**_"

Grimmjow agreed. The Lich King laughed again, and continued through his memories, going through his experiences in Las Noches in great detail. "_**What an intriguing group of beings. Aizen Sōsuke… so he aspires to godhood? Hah.**_" The immense, terrifying man kept ploughing through the hollow's memories. "_**And what's this? With one of my **_**Death Knights**_**, oh, that's rich! What a ridiculous waste of time.**_"

As the Lich King began to pore through Grimmjow's experiences with Vellena, the arrancar fought back yet again, trying desperately to eject the intruder from his mind. "_**Why do you struggle against me, Grimmjow? You should be honored. I don't pay my respects personally to many.**_"

_Get out of my head._

"_**Why should I? Your mind is so intriguing. You should serve me, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I have seen the violence in your soul. With you at my side, we could scour the world clean of all life.**_" Now, instead of taking more from the arrancar, the Lich King instead showed him images, possibilities. Himself, on a mountain of defeated corpses. Defeated kingdoms bowing at his feet. Bathing in the blood of hundreds. An endless feast of souls. All of this, at the Lich King's side. As his most valued servant…

_I serve no one. _

The images changed. Now, Grimmjow was in Las Noches, in the throne Aizen had used, the corpse of the shinigami bleeding out on the floor below. The Espada bowed to him. Not number six, or even number one, but absolute ruler. Tōsen was mangled and in chains. Grimmjow ruled over Hueco Mundo, the living world, and Soul Society with an iron fist, perfect control… all with the Lich King's blessing and support. "_**All this and more, if you come willingly to me, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.**_"

Grimmjow summoned a mental image of the Lich King on his knees, sucking Grimmjow's cock.

The Lich King's laughter bruised his mind and ears. "_**So crude. Very well. I will give you one night to consider my offer. I would recommend that you submit willingly, for **_**your**_** sake. However, if you insist on being difficult, you will still serve. You will find that it will be… less than pleasant.**_" None too gently, the Lich King vacated Grimmjow's mind, dark cloak swirling as he exited the room.

Darkness descended once more. Grimmjow felt bruised and numb, and nowhere near as gutsy as he had a few moments ago. Part of him… part of him dwelled on the possibilities the Lich King had showed him – the orgy of violence and destruction, the domination and subjugation of everything that had ever stood in the arrancar's path… and was tempted.

But as much as he loved to fight, reveled in destruction, and longed for the sweet release of sublime violence, the one thing he treasured over anything else was his freedom and his pride. His autonomy. He'd _hated_ Aizen for the ex-shinigami's control over him. The Lich King was no different. Just another asshole with delusions of godhood, bent on making Grimmjow submit to his will.

And then there was Vellena, if she still lived. At the Lich King's side, she would be lost to him forever, and that thought was… more painful than he really wished to admit.

One night to decide.

* * *

The hours ticked by. No one else came to Grimmjow's cell. He knew morning must be approaching soon. The Lich King would be back… and Grimmjow would have his answer.

A sound in the corridor outside caught his attention. He heard voices, which was… odd. Sometimes he could hear footsteps and strange noises as things moved in the corridor, but never voices.

"Are ye sure ye know what yer doin', lass? I'm thinkin' we're goin' the wrong way for gettin' outta this fel place." That was a male voice, with an accent he'd come to associate with dwarves.

"Quiet, Orfeo! Let me think… Oh! I think someone's coming. There's a door here, quick, help me—Oh! It's unlocked!" a woman's high-pitched voice said. His door open, two figures dashed in, closing the door behind him. Grimmjow, with his excellent nightvision, could see a dwarf in heavy plate and a night elf in some kind of robes. Still alive, and definitely not Scourge. Neither seemed aware of his presence just yet.

"'Ow bout a light, Kennana," the dwarf said, with the tone of someone reminding a somewhat dim child.

"Oh! Sorry!" She gestured, a golden glow flaring into existence. They spotted Grimmjow. The night elf and dwarf both did a double take. Grimmjow eyed them back. Kennana flushed as she realized that Grimmjow was all but naked.

"Wot's this? Who're ye, then? Some new kind'o undead? A Scourge beastie?" demanded the dwarf, axe in hand.

"Wait, Orfeo! I don't think he's Scourge. Look, he's _chained_ to that chair, and he's… uh… he's… um… almost naked." She blushed again.

"I'm not Scourge," Grimmjow said, quickly.

"See? He's not Scourge!"

"Where'd ye come from, then, lad? An' what's with that bone on yer face, an' the hole in yer middle?" Orfeo asked, giving Grimmjow a suspicious glare.

"I was at the battle at Shadow Vault, but the Scourge captured me," Grimmjow stated. "Look, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do me a favour?"

"Ye dun' look like a Death Knight—,"

"What kind of favour—," both the elf and the dwarf said simultaneously. They halted and looked at each other. Orfeo started to speak, but Kennana shoved her open palm in the dwarf's face. The corner of Grimmjow's mouth twitched.

"I'm not a Death Knight, I just sleep with one regularly. They've got some kind of magic suppressing collar on me. Would you mind taking it off?" the arrancar asked.

"Wot's our guarantee that ye won't try ta do us in?"

"As your night elf friend stated, I'm nearly naked. And I'm unarmed. I'm not sure how long ago the battle at Shadow Vault was, but I've been sitting here in this chair without food or water ever since then. I'm hardly going to be able to get right to kicking your ass, even if I was an enemy," Grimmjow said. It might be a lie – he wasn't sure. He _might_ be able to kick ass right away. But the part about not going to do it to them was the truth.

"Here, let me see…" Kennana said, walking up to Grimmjow. He looked up at her in silence as she examined the collar. "Oh! It's trapped to blow if…" Grimmjow's eyes widened. "Oh! Hmm. How clever. If I just do this…" He heard a click. Suddenly he wondered if this was a good idea. "Oops, um… think quickly Kennana…" … Uh oh… "Oh! There we go." Another click and the collar fell to the floor. Grimmjow gasped at the sudden feel of his own reiatsu. It surged for a moment, then he concentrated, getting it under control and hiding it. Hopefully no one _felt_ that burst of magic.

"Yer a mage?" asked the dwarf.

Grimmjow opened his mouth to give a sarcastic retort, then paused. "Yeah, I guess," he sighed. "Stand aside, will ya?" Both Orfeo and Kennana backed away rapidly. Grimmjow blinked out of the chains. Wobbling unsteadily for a moment on legs that hadn't stood in what had to be several days, he flailed his arms before gaining his balance and straightened. "Much better, thank you. Now, I just gotta know – what the hell are you two doing here?"

"Kennana got us lost—,"

"Um, we got lost—,"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "Where are we, even?"

"Icecrown Citadel… I think," Kennana said.

"Ye shouldn'ta stepped on that bloody teleporter!"

"I keep telling you, I didn't _see_ it, Orfeo! Elune! You'd think you'd never made a mistake before. I know better, Mr. Seaforium Lockpick on the Scarlet Monastery door! Besides, _you_ followed me!"

"_Someone_ had ta keep ye outta trouble."

"Oh! I don't suppose you could portal us out of here, Mr. Mage?" Kennana said.

"'ey now, there's an idea…" The dwarf tugged his braided orange beard thoughtfully and gave Grimmjow a hopeful look.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, and… err, I can do something like a portal, but I need to get something back first."

"Wot's that."

"My sword."

"I don't know but I have the feeling we should _really_ get out of here, like, _fast_. Can't you get another one?" Kennana asked.

Grimmjow's sudden icy glare made her blanch. "No!" he snapped. "It's a part of me. Don't worry, it's not far. I can feel it." He attempted to sense for any wandering reiatsu outside the cell. Nothing. Satisfied, he pushed open the door. The three exited into the corridor.

"This way," Grimmjow said, stalking off down the dark and ominous hallway. He could feel Pantera nearby. Not far at all. The sword still felt so _wounded_. Grimmjow ached to feel it in his hands again. He followed the feeling straight to another door, Kennana and Orfeo trailing behind him.

"I guess no one locks anything in here," Kennana commented.

"Why bother when ye got everyone mind controlled?" Orfeo said.

"You there, what do you think you're doing?!" a familiar voice demanded from behind them. The trio whirled. Grimmjow spotted Caillette Shadowblaze, looking indignant and imperious. She narrowed her eyes at them. At _him_, really. "Trying to escape, are you? I don't think so!" She raised her hand and began casting.

Grimmjow and Kennana moved at the same time, she doing something he wasn't familiar with, and he using one of Laric's tricks. Laric called it 'counterspell'. Grimmjow called it 'shut the fuck up, bitch'. At any rate, both their spells hit Shadowblaze before she could finish whatever she was casting. She gaped at him a moment, which was all he gave her. He elbowed past the protesting Kennana and Orfeo and opened up with a cero, gratified when the energy leapt swiftly to his hands and discharged, bathing the corridor in red light.

When the smoke cleared, a nearly dead Shadowblaze was gasping and gaping at them. Orfeo, who had until then merely watched, gaping like a fish, charged in, axe waving. Kennana muttered something and a column of light hit Shadowblaze at the same time the dwarf did. Grinning like a madman, Grimmjow used sonído to flick past Shadowblaze and kick her hard in the kidneys. A few seconds later Orfeo chopped her head off.

Grimmjow dusted himself off, glanced at his two companions, and grinned. "I hated that bitch," he said. Orfeo grinned back. Kennana gave him an odd look.

"Shouldn't we, I don't know… get out of here? I got a really bad feeling like something really not good is coming this way," she said. Grimmjow nodded briefly and turned back to the open door of the room.

_There_! On a weapon stand, Pantera, still in its blue sheath. He grabbed the weapon, unsheathing it, looking over the sword. Like scars on his own soul, runes were emblazoned into the blade near the hilt. At Grimmjow's touch, they blazed colourfully to life. He felt the runic power, far more keenly than when he had practiced with Vellena's katana in Las Noches. "Oh man, what'd they do to you, Pantera…" he hissed.

Orfeo was looking around like a kid in a candy store. Grimmjow had eyes only for his sword, but there was an awful lot of … _shiny_ objects in this room. Rapidly, he started to go to work, stuffing treasure into magic bags at his belt.

"Um, guys? I hate to say it, but we should get going. There's something… _real awful_ coming this way," Kennana said. Grimmjow looked up, stretching out with his pesquisa. Oh shit. _The Lich King_.

"We gotta get out of here fast," Grimmjow said. Focusing his power, he opened a garganta.

"Wot in blazes is that?!"

"It's a kind of portal. Get in there, concentrate on nothing but the ground beneath your feet, and run until you get to Shadow Vault. Go!" Grimmjow barked.

"Are you coming?" Kennana asked, jumping into the garganta. Orfeo followed here.

The door opened. The Lich King's cold eyes burned into Grimmjow's. He felt the fingers reaching out for his mind. Grimmjow had run out of time. "Go! Run! When you get to Shadow Vault, _find Vellena Nightwind!_"

As he felt the Lich King searing through his mental defenses, he lifted Pantera. For the third time in Azeroth, he screamed: "Grind, Pantera!"

Agony seared through him so terrible that he lost control of the garganta and stumbled back. Pantera's agony, his agony. Those bastards had _stolen_ his _resurrección!_ The runes blazed, blindingly bright. "Fuck!" Grimmjow screamed. Enraged past all reason, he swung wildly at the Lich King, only to freeze in his tracks at the terrible mental grip.

"_**I see. You have made your decision. Very well then.**_" Grimmjow fell to his knees, will crumbling before the terrible power of the Lich King, wielder of Frostmourne, who had once been Prince Arthas Menethil. "_**Rise, my servant.**_"

"Yes, Master," Grimmjow said in a dull voice. Heedless of his own near-nudity, he rose, calmly sheathing his sword, and followed Arthas out of the chamber.


	18. The Importance of Tuques

Vellena buckled her armour on. The motions were automatic, there was no life in them further than that required to perform them. Sighing, she stood up and prepared for what was likely to be another long day of defending Shadow Vault. In the three days since the first battle, the Scourge had tested their defenses every day. Three days since she had lost Grimmjow.

She made her way to the vast, high-ceilinged hall that made up the main gathering place of the Vault. Defenders would begin assembling soon. She sighed.

The familiar feel of a garganta had her jerking around abruptly, staring at the opening maw. Her heart leapt. Had he escaped? But instead of the sight of Grimmjow emerging from the portal, a familiar-looking night elf and a dwarf fell gracelessly onto the floor. The garganta slid shut. Vellena was racing towards them before they had even managed to get back to their feet.

"Ow! That hurt!" said the night elf, brushing herself off. She had not looked Vellena's way yet.

"Aye, t'wasn't particularly pleasant," the dwarf agreed. "Damn path kept disappearing!"

"Well you heard the man, you had to keep concentrating on the path, Orfeo!"

"Stop with yer chatter, Kenna. We've got a Death Knight to find," the dwarf said, turning to Vellena. "Pardon me, lass, but would ye be able ta direct me ta one 'Vellena Nightwind'?"

"That would be me. You saw him. Where was he?" Vellena demanded.

"Oh! Vellena, there you are. Um, we met a blue-haired guy called Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, in Icecrown Citadel. He got us out of there," Kennana Brightleaf said.

"Where is _he_?"

"Well, the last we saw of 'im, he was screaming somethin' at the Lich King, an' then his weird portal shut behind 'im an' we ran!"

"The _Lich King_?!" Vellena gasped. Oh, shit!

"Yes, the real thing! He was so _scary_! I thought we were doomed!" Kennana said.

"I need to sit down," Vellena said, wandering to a bench, feeling rather shell-shocked. The dwarf and elf followed her. After a moment, Vellena spoke again. "Was he… ok when you saw him?"

"Yeah, he didn't have any injuries except for a big hole in his stomach. And there was a bone on the side of his face. He was mostly naked though. I don't know about _now_, but that was the last time we saw him," Kennana replied.

"The hole and the bone are supposed to be there," Vellena replied absently.

"Yeah I thought that, he didn't seem injured. I would know. I'm a priestess!"

The _Lich King_ himself, oh gods. Grimmjow wasn't getting out of this one easily. Oh dear gods. She put her hand to her head and stared at the floor.

"What's going on?" Gorric's familiar voice asked as the orc joined them. Over the last three days, Gorric had been a shoulder to lean on. He was a friend to them both.

"Grimmjow's been spotted, alive, but the Lich King has him," Vellena replied.

"Oh shit," Gorric replied. _Yeah_.

"You there! Are you Vellena Nightwind?" yet another voice intruded on the Death Knight. She looked up, narrowing her eyes in puzzlement at the sight of the approaching human. The man was several inches shorter than she, with shoulder-length grey hair and a big, droopy moustache. He was wearing elaborate robes, and carried a large staff. Some kind of mage. What did _he_ want?

"Yes, I am she," Vellena replied, voice tired. "How can I help you?"

"You can start by telling me where my student went. He was absent for his lessons. Apparently he decided to come defend Shadow Vault without bothering to _tell_ me. I've been three days tracking the irreverent bastard down!" the man said, voice strident with indignation. "Now where is he?!"

"Student?" Vellena quirked a brow at him. Mages were known to be eccentric, even crazy, but… she didn't know any mage students.

"Yes! Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez! Don't play coy with me, girl, I know you know where he is."

Vellena goggled at him. Grimmjow?! Learning magic?! If the situation had been any less serious, she would have _howled_ with laughter. So _that's_ what he'd been sneaking off to do all this time. Training. Indeed! But Grimmjow wasn't here…

"I know where he is, but I'm afraid that won't help you. He's in Icecrown Citadel. The Scourge took him three days ago, and the Lich King has him. Personally," Vellena said flatly.

Something connected with her forehead. She clapped one gauntleted hand to the spot, then wincing at the impact of her armoured hand. "What was that for?!" she demanded.

"_That_ was for _losing_ Grimmjow!" snapped the mage.

"What the fel?! I didn't _lose_ him, he was _taken_!"

"Um… well, it's not doing us much good sitting here beating each other up over it," Kennana interrupted, voice hesitant. "Oh! Don't hit me, mage!" Out of the corner of her eye, Vellena saw the mage round on the other elf, staff raised. Kennana ducked and covered.

The mage lowered his staff and sighed. "She's right. This isn't getting Grimmjow back."

Vellena sighed. "I've already spoke to Thassarian. Shadow Vault cannot spare defenders for a rescue mission. And now, Kennana and her dwarf—,"

"Orfeo Firehammer, if ye please. Err… No relation to the Blackrock Firehammers…" the dwarf interrupted.

"—Kennana and Orfeo tell me they saw him confront the Lich King. Uh… how long ago was that?" she asked the odd pair.

"Umm… 20 minutes ago?" Kennana said.

"About that, yeah," Orfeo agreed.

"So we know he was alive as of 20 minutes ago. We do not know his status now," Vellena stated.

"Are you sure it was the Lich King?" The mage asked, peering intently at the dwarf and elf.

"Oh yes, unmistakable. I've never felt an aura like that. The power was immense!" Kennana said.

"This is really not good. I will need to find some way to scry him. I would have done this earlier, but I have nothing of his…" he looked thoughtfully at Vellena. "I don't suppose _you_ have anything that belonged to him?" he asked.

"Uhh…" Vellena thought. Grimmjow didn't exactly have a lot of possessions. "There _might_ be something back at our inn room in Dalaran…" she said hesitantly.

"Well what are we waiting for? To Dalaran!" the mage barked, then began casting. Light swirled at his feet. A portal flickered into existence, Dalaran clearly visible through it. "Get going!" Vellena stepped through the portal unhesitatingly, followed by Gorric, Kennana and Orfeo, and finally the mage himself.

"Follow me," Vellena said. Within 10 minutes they were at her inn room. The orc, human, dwarf and other elf watched in silence as she rummaged through the storage chest at the foot of the bed she had shared with Grimmjow. "He doesn't exactly have a lot of belongings, but perhaps this will do."

She rose from the chest, holding aloft… a tuque.

"After he got his enchanted armour, he refused to wear it, but hopefully it has enough Grimmjow essence to be useful," she commented, handing the black knit cap to the outstretched hands of the mage.

"Better yet," he said, examining it, "He left behind a few hairs."

"So what now?" Vellena asked.

"I'm going back to my tower. I'm going to see if I can scry him, and then I will discover whether he lives or not," the mage said.

"I'm coming," Vellena stated flatly. The mage gave her an arched-brow look. "I have a stake in this as well, mage. As large as yours, if not more so. I am coming with you."

The mage sighed. "I suppose. You may be able to provide more information, if it comes down to it. And my name's Laric, by the way, not 'mage'."

Again, he cast a portal spell. Vellena stepped through it. Before anyone could argue, Gorric, Kennana and Orfeo followed. When both Vellena and Laric turned to look at them, Kennana shrugged.

"He saved our lives. We'd like to do the same for him if we can," she said. Orfeo nodded his agreement.

"Grimmjow is my friend too," Gorric said.

Laric shrugged.

"Stay in the areas I tell you to, and don't touch anything you haven't been told to touch," he said brusquely. "Lucky for you four, I happen to have the guest rooms clean right now. Gotta keep the magic servants busy somehow or they get up to mischief."

Laric showed them around the tower, or at least, around the places in the tower he didn't mind them wandering around. These consisted mostly of a set of fairly nice guest rooms, a kitchen and dining room, bathroom facilities, and a living room.

"Where exactly are we?" Vellena asked, after she had noticed a complete lack of windows.

"Netherstorm." When the four gave him an odd look, he shrugged. "It's a good place not to be disturbed. We're on a floating rock a long ways away from anything important. Nothing comes here unless I want it to. It's quite nice, actually."

Yet he had guest rooms… go figure.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get to work with locating Grimmjow. The sooner I have a fix on him, the easier it will be to retrieve him." Three chanted words and a hand-wave later, the mage vanished.

The quartet was silent for a moment. Then after a few minutes, Kennana spoke up. "Umm… Vellena? Was Grimmjow the one who gave you all those… bruises?"

Vellena felt herself flushing.

* * *

Grimmjow stood silently in the vast audience hall, a few yards from the Frozen Throne. If his plate armour was heavy or uncomfortable, he gave no indication. He stared out without breaking his gaze. He didn't twitch, grumble, sigh, growl, or look around. He couldn't. Arthas controlled him fully, his entire will subordinated to the Lich King's.

There was a disturbance at the entrance of the hall. The huge doors flew open. A white-clad figure walked with perfect composure, approaching the Lich King's throne. Sitting with his helmet off and Frostmourne in his heavy, gauntleted hand, Arthas observed the oncoming figure. A human, by appearances. White robes, a sheathed sword thrust through the wide cloth sash. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A slight smile on perfectly composed lips. Completely unafraid. He halted less than ten yards from the throne.

"Aizen Sōsuke. I admit, I have been wondering when you might make your way to Azeroth," boomed Arthas.

"Prince Arthas Menethil; otherwise known as the Lich King. We meet at last." The smaller man's voice was as composed and smooth as his expression. "I apologize that it took me so long to make my way here. We would have met before this, but there were technical difficulties to overcome. Small problems, like getting from my world to your own." His gaze slid to Grimmjow. "I see you have found my missing Espada," he commented lightly to Arthas. "Grimm-kun. The red eyes clash with your hair."

Grimmjow said nothing. No narrowed eyes, no snarled defiance, no rude comeback. He just stood there, gaze fixed on a place beyond Aizen. He couldn't do anything. The Lich King did not give him leave to respond. Not even to think.

"No words of greeting for your old king?" Aizen asked.

"He has no words for _anyone_, unless I choose to let him. He's _my_ toy now, Aizen," Arthas said. "If I want, I can order him to cut you down where you stand, and he will comply, immediately."

Aizen gave no reaction. "The Espada have, alas, ceased to become useful to me. Grimmjow in particular has always been a handful, more of an annoyance than a useful tool. I am terribly disappointed by them all right now," Aizen said. His tone reflected ennui more than any actual disappointment.

"What is it you think you want, Aizen?"

Brown eyes met blue. "Nothing strenuous. Merely… 100,000 souls. I don't even need their bodies."

"Still trying to create your King's Key? I take it your war efforts against the shinigami have failed?" The Lich King's tone was mocking. Aizen raised an elegant eyebrow, as if to enquire how this was known. "I know everything about you, Aizen Sōsuke. Your erstwhile servant's mind contained a great deal of interesting memories. He didn't have a very high opinion of you, however. He continually thought of you as 'Bastard Aizen', for instance."

"He was ever vulgar, and uncreative where anything but destruction was concerned," sighed Aizen. "You have the advantage over me, then. Vellena has told us something about you, but not everything."

"What makes you think I would help you, Aizen? I am not interested in helping others rule."

"I have no interest in Azeroth beyond using its denizens to obtain the King's Key. I have no intention of challenging your rule here."

"And why would I help with that?"

"Perhaps we can arrange a deal, an exchange of sorts. One to our mutual benefit. You may consider Grimmjow to be a gift; I have no more interest in him."

"How generous of you, to give me something I already own."

Aizen smiled. Raising his hand, something grey and purplish and encased in crystal appeared in his palm. The Hōgyoku. "I'll admit, it isn't Frostmourne, but it is useful all the same," he said. "While I do not intend to give away my Hōgyoku, I am not averse to using it to strengthen selected members of your Scourge. The effects may be extremely pleasing to you."

His eyes met the Lich King's. They stared at each other for a long minute, Aizen with his customary smile, Arthas unreadable.

"I'm afraid my mind is far better defended than that of my former subordinate. That won't work on me," Aizen said smoothly.

Another silence. "Very well. We will call this a truce for now. Perhaps we can discuss an agreement later. For now, you may consider yourself my guest," the Lich King said.


	19. Retrieving Grimmjow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a warning - this chapter contains a major character death. I would also like to remind you that this is Azeroth, there are 30 chapters in this story, and you should definitely keep reading, don't stop here.

"Any luck yet?" Vellena asked as Laric joined them for supper the day after they had arrived at the tower. The mage had spent both days working on scrying. The grey-haired human gazed across the magically-provisioned table at the four.

"He's alive, that's all I know. He's in the presence of the Lich King, and there's so many scrying wards up that I'm lucky to know _that_ much. I wouldn't otherwise be able to scry him, but having something that came from his body and contains his essence, like his hair, makes it possible to discover whether he's still alive or not, at least. If he starts to move out of Arthas' presence, then I might be able to see more," Laric said. The mage was obviously frustrated with the lack of progress.

Vellena breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Grimmjow was still alive. She was still concerned – very much so. For Grimmjow to be in the Lich King's immediate presence _constantly_ meant that their foe had taken a personal interest in her lover.

"That's really not good; Arthas himself," Gorric said, echoing Vellena's own feelings.

"I'm not exactly thrilled with it, either. There are implications to that – as I'm sure you know, Vellena, Grimmjow is _dead,_" Laric said, meaningfully. Vellena nodded, heart sinking. "Arthas is no doubt aware of this fact. My guess is he will view Grimmjow as a new type of undead at the very least and wish to know more; at the worst, well, who can say. There is, as you know, a certain degree of overlap between regular undead and what Grimmjow is."

"Oh! Does that mean…" Kennana's voice trailed off. One could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Vellena could tell the moment she figured out some of the implications – the blood drained from her face and she looked disturbed. "Oh. _Oh_. That's really _not_ good."

"Wot's not good? Is Arthas killin' 'im or somethin'?" Orfeo demanded, obviously not getting it.

"Not necessarily. But there is a good chance that Arthas could enslave and control Grimmjow, against his will," Vellena answered. Orfeo blanched.

"Precisely," Laric said. "If such a control has been exerted, it would be problematic. Gorric and Vellena, _you_ know more about that than I do."

"We've always had somewhat more autonomy than the regular undead. But the Forsaken freed themselves somehow, so there's always a chance…" Vellena said.

"I don't know how much of one, though, if the Lich King is personally focused on him. That would be hard to break," Gorric commented softly, giving Vellena an apologetic glance. She sighed and nodded.

"It's my fault. I never expected him to have to defend against mental attacks. I should have taught him some defenses," Laric muttered, sounding bitter.

Vellena looked at him. "It's no one's fault," she said. "We don't know yet if that is the case for sure…" although she was privately very sure it was.

"We should be prepared for the eventuality," Laric finished for her.

"Yes. What do you suggest?" Vellena asked.

"Well, if I can get a firm lock on him, I can portal to him – at least once he's gone far enough from the Lich King's presence. I suggest we… um… jump through and grab him," Laric said.

That was it? The grand plan? She had expected the mage to come up with something better than that. She made a face.

"Well, if I can get him back here to the lab, I can look into undoing anything the Lich King has done to him. If possible," Laric said.

Vellena admitted to herself that she could think of no better plan.

"Of course there's always the possibility that he's still free, in which case we just grab him and run," Laric continued.

"It's the best shot we have," Vellena reluctantly stated. "You will tell us when you can reach him, right?"

"Of course. It might be a struggle to retrieve him, and, well, you folk are _far_ better equipped for that sort of thing than I," Laric answered, a slight condescending tone in his voice. Vellena gave him a flat look, but she didn't disagree. If it came to a struggle, she, Gorric and Orfeo would likely be at the forefront. Kennana and Laric could provide support. Laric couldn't be risked in a confrontation – he was their ticket to safety, and possibly their best bet at freeing Grimmjow.

The next few days were a combination of boredom and nervousness. She got to know her companions a lot better – having nothing to do, the four spent the days telling each other stories while Laric worked. She told them about Grimmjow and his history, and they told her about themselves. Gorric she knew already, but Kennana and Orfeo were unknowns. The tale of how the night elf priestess had ended up becoming a traveling companion to the dwarven warrior had occasioned some amusement. What was even more amusing was the fact that the two had obviously stuck together for as long as they had, considering the endless misadventures they seemed to encounter. Especially since they did not seem to share a romantic relationship.

This fact was not lost on Gorric. Vellena had noticed the Death Knight's growing interest in Kennana, an interest that seemed to be returned. Orfeo had, too. Apparently the only ones who were oblivious were Kennana and Gorric themselves. The dwarf had just rolled his eyes, and indicated in private to Vellena that she did this all the time. 'Free-spirited', he'd called his companion, with a shrug, before muttering something about her having no taste. Vellena had been hard put not to laugh.

It seemed that Kennana and Gorric would have to wait, though, for Laric rushed to the sitting room on the fourth day, obviously excited. "He's on the move! Come to my workshop you four, quickly now!"

"Armour," Gorric stated, flatly, tearing his eyes away from Kennana to face the mage. He had a point – they were all in civvies.

Laric looked annoyed. "Well, get to it. Five minutes. Then we leave."

Vellena prepared quickly, thanking the fact that she'd done this so many times before and had become very fast at it. She was buckling on her sword belt as she exited the room Laric had given her. Gorric was placing his helm on his head. Kennana was already there, waiting – she just had her robes, really, which she had worn throughout their stay. Orfeo emerged from his room, adjusting a large two-handed battle-axe which was strapped to his back.

"Good, now follow me," Laric said, with a nod. The non-mages followed him through parts of the tower they had never seen before, finally arriving in a large, open room, ringed with windows, and filled with odd implements. "Don't touch anything!" Laric snapped, as Kennana jerked her fingers back from the skeleton of a winged serpent that was hanging from the ceiling.

Laric pulled a familiar-looking tuque from under a glass case and picked from it exactly one hair. Replacing the tuque beneath the case, he walked to the centre of the room, hair in hand. He began casting. Circles of light began to rotate around his form as he spoke in a strange chant. A portal yawned open, through it the cloudy sky of Icecrown was visible.

"Well, through it, already!" Laric snapped. Vellena and Gorric rushed to the portal and were the first ones through. Orfeo and Kennana followed close behind. Last came Laric. He stood by the still-open portal.

Vellena did not immediately spot Grimmjow, but she felt his reiatsu. Something felt _wrong_ about it, tainted. The Lich King's touch was heavy on it. Then she spotted him, or what she thought was him.

It was kind of hard to tell under all that armour, but his bare, blue-topped head gave him away. Two red points of light glimmered in his face, visible even from where she was, 200 yards away. He was walking resolutely, ringed by a contingent of various Scourge. He halted, suddenly, facing the arriving group of would-be rescuers.

He raised his sword in the air. The sickening feeling in his reiatsu intensified. She saw the glow of runes etched onto Pantera's surface. He swung his sword down to point at Vellena's group, and the Scourge surged forward, attacking. "Kill them!" she heard him shout, a snatch of wind carrying his voice to her. It was his voice, definitely, and far colder than she'd heard before.

"Gorric, Orfeo…" she said.

"No problem, we got this," the dwarf replied, reaching for his battleaxe. The orc nodded, pulling out two axes and readying himself to meet the charge.

"Go," said Gorric.

Two hundred yards were nothing when one could sonído. Vellena skipped across the air, flashing past the undead below in less than a heartbeat. She had to get to Grimmjow! She had to—parry rapidly as she met his downward swing.

"Come to return yourself to the Master?" Grimmjow's voice, still icy cold and cruel, asked her over their joined blades. She looked into his face. The feral, almost insane grin was familiar. The red glowing eyes were not. _Shit_. Arthas _definitely_ had him.

"Come to retrieve _you,_" she said. That insane look flashed across his face and he swung at her again. She blocked, again, dodging out of the way of his sword as it sliced cleanly through her own. At the impact, she could feel Pantera's agony and hatred. His zanpakutō felt like it had been tortured. She was suddenly _very_ glad she had not runed it.

Dropping the useless hilt of her left blade, she reinforced her grip on the right. "I don't want to fight you," she said.

"Then surrender to the Master, and all will be forgiven," Grimmjow said. "There is a place at his side, even for you fallen Death Knights."

"No! Break out of it, Grimmjow, damn it, _fight it_!"

His only reply was laughter. He raised his free hand contemptuously, a crimson glow building in the gauntleted palm. Eyes widening, she flicked out of the way with sonído barely in time to avoid the cero hit. She had only a split second in which to call her anti-magic protection before a huge ball of fire splashed into her. When the flames dissipated, she looked around for him.

"Too slow!" his voice came from behind her. She whirled, meeting his strike with her sword. It met the same fate as its twin. Damnit! Before she dropped it, she activated the frost rune that was all that remained on the blade, grasping Grimmjow with an icy gauntlet. Hoping that her icy touch would buy her some time, she used sonído to step backwards about 50 yards

She reached into her pack for another weapon even as she saw Grimmjow start moving towards her. She grabbed the first thing that came to her hand. Sanguiferrous. She cursed. No time – she was parrying another attack. The runeblade held against Pantera.

Below her, she could see flashes of golden light from Kennana. A familiar ring of bloody dirt surrounded Gorric as the orc struggled against a horde of ghouls, and Orfeo was facing off against an abomination. Laric stood at the portal, casting fireball after fireball into the press of undead, leaving each target a greasy smear.

Parry, parry, dodge, sonído, parry… all she could bring herself to do was defend. One lucky strike on his part had infected her with a disease – he was clearly using those runes on Pantera. All she'd managed so far was to slow him marginally and counter the more lethal of his spells. She was holding back. How could she not. "Fight it, Grimm!" she demanded again.

"But why should I? Don't you know the _glory_ of the Master? To stand at his side and _serve_ as we were meant to?" Grimmjow laughed. His voice, but definitely not his words. Glory in servitude… That was not the Grimmjow she knew.

"Let him _go_, Arthas, you bastard!"

Two voices laughed derisively out of one mouth. "Oh, but why would I give up such an _interesting_ toy?" the Lich King's voice asked, out of Grimmjow's mouth. Once more, she had to flash out of the way of his cero. She was immediately jerked through the air towards him as he lashed out with a death grip. She could not totally block his return strike. Her black blood flew as he got through her armour. Sanguiferrous stirred.

Death knight, Espada, even some mage tricks; all in one individual, and all under the control of the Lich King. Vellena's last thoughts before her Runeblade took over were that this was really not a good combination to go up against. Those thoughts were lost as she slipped into that red haze of combat. Finally, she attacked, lashing out at her opponent with disease and frost. The one facing her laughed.

She countered spells and let some wash over her, barrier protecting her. Sanguiferrous boosted her speed, her ferocity. Moving in close, she ignited his diseased blood, following through with a devastating slash, sacrificing the diseases in order to strike harder. Stepping backwards, her opponent death coiled himself twice, closing the wounds. She continued attacking and meeting his attacks.

Something had changed. It seemed her enemy's reactions were slower. He wasn't using his abilities as fully as he could. It was like he was at war with himself. Fully in the Runeblade's thrall, she didn't care what the source of his conflict was. She took advantage of his delays and hesitations, pressing on ruthlessly against him.

Sparks flew as blade met blade, she ignored the agonized shriek of his weapon as it ground against Sanguiferrous. She burned through runes, hitting him with devastating attacks. She ignored the pain of her own wounds as he replied with his techniques – they might be sluggish but they still hurt. They disengaged from each other, halting for one brief moment, both exhausted and worn down by the protracted battle.

Then she was raising Sanguiferrous once again as he attacked, moving automatically to counter his moves and follow through with a thrust of her own. Sanguiferrous bit through plate armour, tortured metal protesting, and met hierro, broke past it. She apparently hadn't countered enough – Pantera tore through her own armor and lodged in her gut. The backlash of power broke her from her thrall as she grabbed Grimmjow with her other hand, preventing him from falling away.

"If I can't have him, _you_ can't either!" the Lich King's voice growled from his blood-spattered lips. In horror she watched as the red glow faded from his eyes. His blue gaze met hers, filled with misery and betrayal. His mouth was open, coughing blood, as he tried to say something and failed. Then those eyes went blank. In her gut, Pantera flaked away into dust and started to blow away.

Stunned, Vellena could only wonder how this had happened, how this had gone so far. She coughed black blood as her thrall-fueled energy finally gave out and she began to fall backwards, plummeting to the ground below. She had lost all energy with which to save herself, and the will.

She had come to save him. Instead, she had been the one to slay him. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was dead.


	20. The Return of Jaegerjaquez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Please note, due to a site error this chapter posted twice. I remember thinking it was acting a little weird during the post phase, but hadn't realized it posted twice. I've deleted the duplicate chapter.

He opened his eyes, gazing at the sky. A spiral of black, grey and white twisted slowly above him. He stood up, looked around him. A monochrome landscape greeted him – black, white and grey trees and grass, rolling hills. He didn't know where he was. He felt… empty. Lost. It seemed like he hadn't been expecting to be where he was. What was he expecting? He couldn't quite grasp the thought.

His hands brushed against his thighs and he looked at himself. Naked. Flawless body, also monochrome. His muscular form unmarred by any injury. He had the vague impression that there was something wrong with his stomach, something missing, or maybe, not missing. His hand rose to his smooth right cheek. Again, nothing was wrong.

He gazed up at the sky again. At the centre of the slowly turning spiral was a circle of golden light, shining down on something on the ground. Deciding, he began walking towards it.

* * *

"_You were supposed to capture him, not _kill_ him!"_

"_Damnit, Laric, I didn't mean to!" A sniffle._

"_Get him through the portal."_

"_So we can bury him in Netherstorm, Kennana?"_

* * *

He walked forever, ignoring the feel of the wind on his nude body. Ignoring the feel of the ground beneath his feet. He walked towards the column of light, paying no attention to his surrounds beyond what was necessary to keep moving forward.

Breaking out of a grove of trees, he halted. The golden brightness speared from the twisted sky, illuminating a figure. A female form, pale blue skin, shrouded in gauzy white fabric, huge white wings outstretched. She floated in the column, facing him. Her eyes were closed, partially covered by the fabric wrapped around her. The wings fluttered gently, as did the loose tails of cloth.

He walked forward, towards her.

* * *

"_Just what is it you hope to accomplish? The man's dead!"_

"_And I'm a priestess, remember?"_

"…_But it would take… oh, nevermind. Do what you can."_

"_Get him out of this armour and spread him out on the bed."_

* * *

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," said the floating figure as he approached.

"Is that my name?" he asked.

"Yes."

He was silent, studying her. He'd followed the light, and found this woman. Now he had a name, but he still did not understand.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You died."

Did he now? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything before waking up here, now, wasn't that funny?

"What now?" he said, quietly.

* * *

"_Any luck, girl?"_

"_It's hard. He wasn't alive in the first place. And something doesn't want him coming back. It's all I can do to keep him from blowing away into dust like his sword."_

"…_Keep trying, Kennana."_

"_I am!"_

* * *

"It is not yet your time, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Though you are a stranger to the world of Azeroth, your thread still has a place within its tapestry," the woman spoke.

"I don't understand," he said.

The perfect, pale lips smiled at him. "You must go back."

Go back? Go back to where? Flashes of memory assailed him, alien. A world of colours, so very unfamiliar. Faces – who were they? Remembered pain.

"How do I do that?" he asked.

"When the call comes, you must listen."

* * *

"_Oh!"_

"_What is it?!" Excitement. Hope._

"_I found something!"_

"_Can you bring him back?"_

"_I don't know, not yet! Let me concentrate!"_

* * *

"The call?" he asked, confused.

"Yes. It will be soon," she replied.

Then he felt it. A tugging, from somewhere far away. He looked expectantly at the woman. She was holding out something to him, something that looked familiar. A naked, white blade, with an angular, S-shaped crossguard. Blue wrappings around the hilt were the only colour he had yet seen in this place. He held out his hand, ignoring the pulling for a moment, accepting it.

"You will need this," she said.

"Pantera…" the name was on his lips. He didn't know how he knew. As his hand closed around the hilt, a wrenching pain in his gut tore a groan from his mouth. He put his empty hand to his stomach, encountering a hole. But that was supposed to be there, wasn't it? His face felt funny. He raised his hand from the hole to his right cheek, feeling something hard.

The pulling was harder, more insistent. He needed to follow it, he needed to go back. "Grimmjow," the woman's voice interrupted him. He looked at her. "Do not forget to forgive."

What did that mean? He turned from her, sword in hand, ready to heed the call on his soul.

"…And take your time coming back here."

The world faded.

* * *

His lungs surged with breath. His hands reached for Pantera's hilt, finding the blade, relief flooding him as he reassured himself that it was unharmed. His eyes flew open.

Faces surrounded him, five, all familiar. A riot of colour, after the monochrome world. He groaned.

"Ye did it, Kenna!" said the orange-bearded face.

"I know! Isn't that surprising?" the white-haired female responded.

"Grimmjow. How do you feel?" the green-skinned one asked him. The grey-haired one just looked at him expressionlessly. The last… dusky purple skin, green hair, face streaked by tears. A surge of emotion as his eyes met her glowing blue gaze. Anger. Pain.

"You," he growled, narrowing his gaze. "Bitch! You _killed_ me!" He rolled away from the inquiring faces, lurching off the soft surface and standing. Pantera clutched in one hand, he bolted from the room.

* * *

Stricken, Vellena watched him go.

"Don't worry, Vellena, people are usually grumpy when they just come back from the dead. Orfeo always is," Kennana said, putting her arm on the Death Knight's.

"He hates me," Vellena stated flatly.

"Well, ye _did_ kill 'im—OW! Wotch where ye swing that thing, mage!"

"Where are you going, mage Laric?" Gorric asked.

"To collect my idiot apprentice before he damages something, or himself."

"I killed him…" Vellena said, heartbroken. "I didn't have a choice. Now he hates me." The pain shifted inside her. "I didn't have a choice!" She said, with anger.

* * *

Grimmjow wandered through the unfamiliar halls. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going. Wherever he was, it reminded him strongly of Laric. The man's energy was all over everything. He didn't care. He needed to get out, get some air, get away… Shit, he'd been dead. _She_ killed him. "Urgh!" he grunted, angry and frustrated.

"That's quite enough, Grimmjow." Laric's voice behind him. He whirled.

"What do you know, old man? You weren't the one who was dead. Or did you put her up to it?" Grimmjow rounded on the mage. When the other man raised a finger and opened his mouth to cast a spell in reply, Grimmjow counterspelled quickly and swung his fist. The meaty sound of his knuckles connecting with Laric's face was all too satisfying, but it didn't do much to alleviate the burning anger inside him.

Laric went down, covering his nose with his hand, anger glinting in his eyes as he got back to his feet. Grimmjow grinned and cast a spell. The grey-haired mage shrank, becoming wooly, a startled baa emitting from him. How do you like _them_ apples, hah! For one moment he contemplated killing his mentor, then he decided against it. The guy _had_ taught him some useful tricks, even if he was a fucking lunatic. He turned to walk away, still intent on _getting out of here_.

"Baaa!" Grimm-sheep stumbled, hooves clattering. Pantera fell to the floor beside him.

"Dad's quide edough of your dodsedse. Indo da box wid you!" Stronger than Grimmjow would have guessed, the mage picked up the struggling sheep one-handed, carrying him away. Laric had his zanpakutō in the other hand.

"Baa?" Grimmjow attempted, as Laric stepped on something and flipped a switch, and they teleported elsewhere. Grimmjow continued to twist, trying to break through the enchantment. Laric opened a door. He flung Grimmjow inside a dark room, the polymorph leaving the arrancar as he flew past the threshold. The door closed behind him.

Grimmjow picked himself up. What the fuck? He tried the door. Locked, and he couldn't force it either. He tried magic, cero… nothing. This room was sealed, somehow. He looked around.

It was dark, but Grimmjow could see. The room was fairly featureless except for a bed, a table, and a chair. Stone walls.

With a sigh, he sat in the chair and waited.

* * *

"She's in shock. She's not reacting normally," Kennana said as she, Orfeo and Gorric dodged out of the room. Vellena was … going crazy. Or something.

"If that's wotcha call it. I call it a murderous rampage," Orfeo said, slamming the door shut behind them.

"I think Kenna's right. She loved—er, loves him, she killed him, and now he's back and he's not happy, and she's beating herself up over it. And, uh, apparently everything in her path as well," Gorric said.

"Whad's da brobleb?" Laric said, arriving. They looked at him, took in his bloody, broken-nosed face. Kennana reached up and tapped him with a healing spell, then gestured wordlessly to the room, from which angry smashing sounds could be heard. Laric muttered a quiet thank you, and rolled his eyes. "There's going to be nothing useful out of these two until they've gotten over it and made up. Stand aside."

"Oh! That's probably a poor idea—," Kennana began as Laric moved for the door. The mage turned to her with a quelling look.

"Trust me," he said. Kennana took a step back, ears drooping. Laric opened the door.

"Alright, Death Knight, enough of this nonsense," the mage said.

An inchoate roar greeted him. There was the sound of something hard hitting flesh. Laric gestured.

"Baa!" said Vellena. Kennana stifled a giggle as the re-broken-nosed mage wandered into the room, scooping up the struggling sheep that was attempting to lash out with hooves and giving everyone dirty looks.

They followed the mage, sheep still attempting to free itself, as he walked away from the rooms. Three curious people trailed behind him, halting when he stopped in front of a door. He opened it, flung in Vellena (who changed from a sheep back into a night elf the second she crossed the threshold), and slammed the door, locking it.

"What's the point of that?" Kennana asked, after she'd healed the mage's nose yet again. Laric turned to them, grinning.

"Well, since I don't really feel like putting up with them while they stomp around all angsty for the next few weeks, I decided to cut to the chase and get the bullshit over with quickly," he said.

"Meaning…" Gorric asked.

"They're not coming out of the box until they sort things out."

"They're both in there, then?" Orfeo asked. "Won't they kill each other?"

"Nonsense, they're unarmed, and the box is sealed against magic," Laric smiled.

"I don't know about Grimmjow, but Vellena can punch like a charging kodo," Gorric said.

"They'll live."

Kennana was silent, looking at the door doubtfully. She arched her eyebrows at the mage.

"Seriously. This is the _oldest_ trick in the book. The box never fails," Laric said.

"If you say so…" Kennana said doubtfully.


	21. Into the Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this is the ACTUAL chapter 21... the last chapter posted twice due to a site error

Grimmjow stirred at the sound of voices outside the door. He'd only been sitting there a few minutes. Before he could react, the door opened and a sheep was tossed into the room. That sheep hit the ground as Vellena. The door slammed shut yet again. Still sitting, Grimmjow glared at her.

He did _not _want to fucking deal with this right now. So he didn't. He closed his eyes and ignored her, slouching in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Even with his eyes closed he could still feel her, hear her shifting in the darkness. She sat on the floor. He pretended she wasn't there, and tried to ignore the fact that he felt like shit – disoriented and sick.

She said nothing. He said nothing. They sat in silence, anger and resentment seething in the air between them.

* * *

The first hour went by. Neither spoke or moved. Time continued to tick by. They both shifted at the same time, the sound of each other moving causing them to glance at each other, glaring daggers at each other in the darkness. Then the shouting began.

"What are you doing in here?" Grimmjow demanded angrily.

"Laric tossed me in, what the fuck did you think? What are _you_ doing in here?" Vellena snapped back, just as angry.

"Sitting around, having a fucking nice morning! What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"Moping. And it's not even morning. It's more like the middle of the night."

"Well excuse me for not knowing the time. I was kind of _dead_, you know."

"… Fuck you!"

"Fuck _you_! _You're_ the one who killed me, bitch!"

"I didn't mean to! Besides, you're the one who attacked _me_! And I wasn't any more in control of myself than you were."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make it all better? It was still _your_ sword in my chest. Did you like that, huh? My blood all over your hands? Murderous bitch!"

With an inarticulate scream, she launched herself at him.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kennana asked. The observers outside the room could hear the yelling and screaming, even if they couldn't make out the words. They could hear the sound of the two in the room fighting – both with words and now with their bodies. The night elf had a look of concern.

"Relax. They just need to work out their tensions," Laric said. But he flinched almost imperceptibly as something heavy thudded against the door with an 'oof' of expelled breath. Grimmjow, by the sounds of it. The four outside the door could hear his bellowed obscenities fading as he got up and moved away from the door, going back.

"I really hope I don't have to revive either of them after this. I'm exhausted, and it was such a fight to bring Grimmjow back – I'm not sure I could do that again," Kennana said worriedly.

"I don't think you'll have to revive them. I think they'll stop before it gets to that point," Laric said. Kennana's long ears still caught the muttered 'I hope'. She frowned.

* * *

Two monstrously strong, excessively durable creatures like Grimmjow and Vellena could fight a long time. There was, after all, a limit to the damage they could inflict on each other with fists alone. It helped that they were unarmed, and that Grimmjow was feeling a lot weaker than usual. The third hour passed. The light, if there had been any in the chamber, would have revealed each as a canvas of bruises. Spectacular bruises.

Somewhere in the melee, the loincloth that had been the only thing clothing Grimmjow had gotten detached, leaving him naked. Vellena was only slightly more clothed – her garments were ripped to the point where they were hardly concealing anymore. They were, however, too intent on beating the crap out of each other (both with their fists and their words) to pay much attention to their states of relative undress.

"… Six hours? I was dead six hours? I shouldn't have been dead at all!" He blocked her strike with a raised elbow and attempted to knee her in the gut.

"Kennana was doing all she could to bring you back. She managed!" She sidestepped, catching the fist that followed his kneeing. She moved to toss him, but he countered, and she landed on her ass, the flipped instead of the flipper.

"Maybe you're wishing she hadn't succeeded now, huh? What did you do while she was trying, sit around filing your nails and congratulating yourself on your success?" Her face darkened at this. She rose from the ground, rolling away from his kick, grasping his leg and pulling.

"Fuck you! How do you think I felt? I killed the only man I ever loved! I thought I'd lost you forever!" He stumbled towards her, and she grabbed his shoulder, steadying him for a powerful right hook.

Her fist thudded into his open palm, readied for her blow. His fingers closed around her own. Even in the darkness, his eyes fixed on her face, looking vaguely stunned. "Wait, you… lo… lo—OW!—love me?" He caught her other hand, not dodging the stomp of her foot on his instep.

"Of course I do, you idiot!" she yelled back, her voice cracking. He noticed the tears streaking her face, shining in the light of her eyes. She was still wearing the collar. He grabbed the loop and pulled her towards him, sealing her mouth with his own.

Shock kept her from struggling as much as anything else. Aggression suddenly forgotten, she lowered her fists, hands opening as they rested on his naked hips, pressing his body against her own. She returned the kiss.

"You've never said you love me before," Grimmjow said when they finally pulled apart to breathe. Well, he had to breathe, at least.

"I… haven't?" she said weakly.

"No."

"Then I'll say it now," she whispered. Tears were still glistening on her cheeks. "I love you, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I love you, and when you died I very nearly followed you."

His hands were around her, squeezing convulsively. "Don't… don't say that. I don't like the thought of you… gone…" he gasped.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you, Grimmjow. I really didn't mean to," she sniffled.

'_Do not forget to forgive._' The words of the strange floating woman from the black and white world returned to him. The anger and rage that had been burning inside him since he had been brought back to life flickered out abruptly, like a snuffed candle. He drew a ragged breath, running fingers through her sweaty green hair. He thumbed the spikes on her collar. Her body was against his hot skin. _Could_ he forgive something like that? He sighed. "I'm alive now. I'm not going anywhere. Don't you dare leave me either."

"I'm not going anywhere!" she echoed him insistently.

His hands slid beneath the tatters of her shirt. His mouth was on hers; insistent and hungry like she was water and he was a drowning man. She kissed back, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body against his with a sob. He stumbled a few steps until the back of his legs touched the bed, and then they tipped into it, Grimmjow on his back and Vellena on top of him, mouths still connected.

He managed to pull the shirt off of her and toss it to the floor. She cooperated with the removal of her breeches, flinging them aside to join the shirt. Somehow they had gone from trying to kick the living shit out of each other to jumping each others' bones. Well, he thought as she melted under his touch, he wasn't going to complain.

They were both sweaty from their exertions, and she'd warmed up from all the movement. So had he. He grabbed her arms and pulled her torso down, leaning up to lick the salty sweat from her collarbone. She moaned and shifted her hips on top of him. Oh, that felt _too_ nice. He was getting hard, feeling her on his lap, smelling and tasting her skin. Oh man. A terrible thought, to never have this again. … Don't think it.

His tongue moved down to her firm, large breasts, and he added the gentle scrape of his teeth to the mix. The wonderful noises she made in response just further fueled his desire. She pulled her wrists from his hands and he felt her hands slide down his shoulders and back, her nails running over his muscles and skin gently. Putting one hand backwards on the bed to support them, he used the other to grab her thigh and adjust her. His cock brushed against her mons, delicious teasing for them both.

She nuzzled his hair and he felt her tongue on the top of his left ear. He hummed approvingly into her breasts as she began to nibble. He shifted his hips again, enjoying the pressure of their bodies together. As he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, she shuddered. He grinned. Then he shifted her yet again and guided them both onto their sides on the bed. He kissed her again, holding her body tight against his own, hand behind her head. She pressed against him in return, her tongue tangling with his own.

Then she pulled away from him and he gripped her wrist, wondering what was up. But her finger across his mouth stilled him for a moment as she turned around. Her hips were in his face now, his nose right in her curling green pubic hair. As for her, well, he gasped as her mouth closed around his cock. Ok. He wasn't going to complain about this. He lifted her leg and found his way to her sex with his mouth.

Intoxicated by her taste and scent and thrilled by the work of her mouth down below, he tongued her clit happily. Her answering moan on his cock was very pleasant, fueling the burn of his lust further. Pleasant enough to make him purr, which seemed to please her more. She was making it a little hard for him to concentrate on what he was trying to do, though. He soldiered on, adding his fingers to the task at hand, slipping his tongue inside her while he continued to torment her.

"Mmm—aah!" she said, mouth pulling free from his member as she gasped. He could feel her shuddering. Grimmjow grinned as much as he could, driving his tongue in deeper, rubbing just a little harder with his fingers. She licked down his length, then he felt her lips on his balls as she kissed him. He hummed appreciatively, and her body shook again, her moans muffled by his nuts.

Those moans didn't get a chance to stop as he continued to ply her. Instead, they got louder and more unrestrained as he worked her skillfully. Her ministrations on him all but stopped as she started to come, quite vocally. He closed his eyes and groaned at the taste of her, sucking and licking at her twitching pussy. He didn't mind that she wasn't able to keep going on him – he had more in mind still.

When her moans had subsided to merely loud, hard breaths, he pulled back, letting her leg down and giving her a soft slap on her nice, firm buttocks. "On your knees." Grimmjow said. He smiled at the lusty groan she responded with. Her mouth and hands left his sex and she moved. As she complied with his instruction, he got on his knees behind her and gripped her upper arms, leaning forward to bite her neck. He thrust his aching manhood against her backside, enjoying the feel of skin on skin.

She let him guide her knees farther apart, and let him bend her forward on her hands and knees. He could hear her whimpering with desire as he reached around to stroke her nub just as he parted her nether lips with the head of his cock. She was hot and wet and ready for him. He pushed in slow and hard, almost gasping at the feel of her twitching around him. Then he was in her and the fronts of his thighs were up against the backs of hers, her body molded exquisitely against his own.

He paused like that a second, savouring the feel of her, then he gripped her hips and began pumping into her. Taking her this way brought him in deep, and he couldn't restrain the urge to pound her hard and fast. A low groan tore from his throat as she arched her back and pressed her chest into the bed, stretching out like a tigress being mounted by her mate. Not only was the sight of her like that erotic, but the feel of her was amazing. So hot, so wet, so deep. The flames in his belly needed out.

And then she was squeezing around him and shrieking out his name and he was coming in her, gripping her hips close to him hard as he moaned her name out. One more small thrust and he felt almost ready to fall over, panting as hard as she was and utterly spent. He leaned across her, arms around her tight.

They stayed like that – Vellena face down on the mattress and Grimmjow draped over her back – for a minute or two before either felt the urge to move again. Then, with a hand on her hip to steady himself, he disengaged. She let her hips down with a groan, and he flopped beside her, arm around her. She turned to him, curling into his embrace. He kissed her once, tenderly, before exhaustion sent them both off to the dream world.

* * *

Orfeo had long since wandered off to sleep, but Gorric and Laric had stayed near the chamber. Kennana had stayed nearby too, just in case her services as a healer were needed. When the sounds of yelling and fighting had tapered off, she had wondered if something had gone wrong; if they'd finally killed each other, but the mage showed no inclination to open the door.

Then there was a thump of something hitting furniture, and the sounds from within the room changed… considerably. Kennana had turned bright red. Laric's lips curled in a grin, and Gorric looked embarrassed. He kept giving Kennana sidelong glances, and seemed to be getting greener and greener.

"It looks like our work here is done," Laric said, rising and wandering off. "Let them sleep it off."

Kennana and Gorric looked at the mage, and then each other. Both of them blushed as they heard Vellena moan particularly loudly.

"Well, they seem to have stopped killing each other, at least," Kennana said.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Gorric replied, wryly. She saw him grin, the expression not as frightening as it would have been before she got to know him.

"It does at that." They both heard Grimmjow's groan and Vellena's high-pitched cry. "Maybe we should let them have a little privacy," the priestess suggested.

"Probably," said the orc. "Of course, we could always go make some noise of our own," he suggested lightly.

Her face expressionless, she slid her gaze over the Death Knight. Her eyes flickered across his broad form appreciatively. Gorric smiled. "That… sounds like an idea…" Kennana said, slyly. Then she smiled and rose. The orc rose too, placing one large, meaty green hand on her shoulder. Together they walked back to their rooms… well, back to _a_ room, at least.


	22. Good Morning, Azeroth

The sleep-warmed form under his arms was shifting, and he tightened his grip and woke up, ignoring the sudden surge of pain in his head and feeling of weakness. The shifting form was Vellena. In his arms, where she was supposed to be. It had been, what, a week? Too long.

She was still sleeping. Having a dream. She didn't seem to have those often, maybe that came with being dead. Come to think of it, he couldn't recall dreaming much either. He propped his head up with his other arm and ran his fingers through her hair. This seemed to calm her, but the moment he stilled, she jerked and shouted his name, followed by a long drawn out 'noooooooo', and a whimper.

"Hey," Grimmjow said. "It's ok, I'm right here." He stroked her hair. She gasped and woke up, eyes flying open.

"Grimmjow! You're alive!" she said, panting.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Would you prefer the alternative?" he asked without malice.

She gave him a dirty glare in the darkness. He chuckled.

"Of course not!" she snapped.

"That's good, because you're stuck with me," he wrapped his arms around her, leaning over her and partially covering her body with his own. He found her mouth and kissed her.

"I love you…" she whispered when their lips parted. He smiled. Her words felt good. Someone who could love an arrancar, such a thing, had it ever happened before? He didn't care, he could be the first. And maybe, the first arrancar who felt the same. That's what this feeling inside was, wasn't it? Love.

"I like hearing you say that," he purred and slid his knee between her legs, grinding his thigh against her crotch.

"Uhmm… I love you," she said. He shifted his hips. "Gods, Grimmjow, that feels good. You're turning me on."

"Oh really? Can't have that now, can we?" he grinned, enjoying the moistness he could start to feel on his leg. His large, strong hands gripped her breasts, squeezing. Gods he loved those breasts. "So what are you going to do about it?"

She groaned. Firm hands wrapped around his wrists as she moved beneath him, suddenly, and he was on his back and she was on top of him. She straddled his hips, moist cleft pressing against his rising manhood. He chuckled. "Eager little thing aren't you—hhhhhhoh—fuuuuck!" He gasped, sitting up automatically and gripping her tight in his arms, as she stroked the inside of his hollow hole. He was instantly rock hard.

Vellena laughed, low and seductive. His cock twitched at the sound. Trying to get himself under control, he took a deep breath. She still hadn't removed her finger from his hollow hole, but she hadn't moved it at lea— "Graah!" He exclaimed, and drove his teeth into her shoulder. Her blood never tasted very nice, but he wasn't caring right now, not with her touching him like that inside his hole, all that lust and love flooding him like that. All he wanted to do right now was to fuck, to drive into her hard and fill her with himself. His hips rocked against hers helplessly. Dimly, he heard her chuckle, felt her shift in his lap, her chest pressing harder against his, and then… and then… she sank onto his shaft, and he gave a muffled roar from her shoulder.

Gasping for air, he let her push him back down on the bed. She leaned over him, breasts pushing into his chest. Her fingers finally came out of his hollow hole. His hands came up around her hips as she bounced on him, taking him in long, deep strokes. He moaned, a sound she echoed. Oh shit, she was so wet. He felt like he was being gripped by liquid silk. She lifted up, arching her back and pushing down hard, taking him real deep. He gasped, eyes fluttering.

His elf rode him like a wild woman. She was giving sharp cries with each surging thrust, and it was all he could do just to keep himself from coming. He groaned and surrendered himself to the feel of her. And then her fingers were in him again and he was coming, and coming, and when he stopped he was still hard and she was still going and his whole body felt like it was on fire. Everywhere she touched he lit up, burning with lust. He whimpered and gave a long, drawn out moan.

Her lips on his skin were like brands of pleasure, and her hands were sweet implements of erotic torment. She ground against his sex hard. He gasped. And then she started moving in a rhythm that was driving him over the edge, and apparently her too, because she started howling his name as she came. And he came again – was that even possible? It was his whole body this time. And he felt like screaming her name, and maybe he did, he didn't know, this was just too good. He felt like he was going to black out.

He shuddered and gasped for breath, hands still on her hips. She was panting, head hanging, her forehead on his chest. He lifted his head and kissed her hair. She looked up at him, and he felt that surge inside at the look on her face. Love. That's what it was.

They caught their breath, heart rates returning to normal.

"We should probably get up and reassure the others that we haven't killed each other," she commented.

"Mmn," he said. "I think they'll have figured out we're all right by now."

"How's that?"

"Well we weren't exactly being _quiet_ there," Grimmjow said.

"Er…"

He chuckled. She slid off of him and he sat up, feeling sore, somewhat dizzy and weak, and a little worn out. Well if that's the worst of it after having been dead, he wasn't going to complain. He felt kind of shitty this morning, but glad to be alive. It _was_ morning, wasn't it? Yeah, time to get up for sure.

He found his fundoshi. She found the tatters of her clothes. He realized he really, _really_ needed a bath. Damnit! After a week with the Lich King & co., an extended nearly naked fight, and two love-making sessions (yeah, he could call it that now), he wasn't his freshest. Death hadn't brought him back clean and he hadn't improved the situation since.

"Vel," he said, "I _really_ need a bath."

"Yeah," she replied, amusement in her tone, "you do."

He grunted in annoyance and tried the door. It was unlocked. Outside the room waited Orfeo – he thought that was the name, who blushed when he caught sight of Grimmjow and Vellena, and on the same bench as the dwarf, Pantera. Grimmjow grabbed the sword, drawing it from its sheath. He stared at the plain white blade for a moment, turning it over in his hands, before sheathing it once more. Pantera was restored, unmarred. He let out a little sigh of relief and carried the sword in his left hand. He had no place to put it, in only his underwear.

"Err… made up then, have ye?" the dwarf asked.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, and Vellena giggled. Just a little giggle, and not an annoying one. It was cute.

"We're fine," Vellena said.

"Yeah," agreed Grimmjow. "Hey, uh… Orfeo, where's a bath?"

"Uh, I dinnae – 'ey, floaty thingy, where's a baf?" The dwarf turned to what appeared to be a floating, bright blue-white… well, thingy. Grimmjow couldn't argue with it as a technical term. What the hell was it? Some kind of blueberry? He considered it for a moment, then realized with a start that it was some kind of magical construct. Huh. Interesting. It was clearly something created by Laric. It had his feel all over it.

The blue thing turned slowly, floating away. Grimmjow followed it. Vellena turned to the dwarf. "We'll be along in a bit," she said. Orfeo nodded and wandered in another direction, as Vellena took a few quick steps to join Grimmjow.

The blueberry led them to a large chamber, which was very obviously a bathroom. A well appointed one. Ornately carved blue-grey marble fittings sparkled, perfectly clean, in the pleasant magelight. A large, empty pool was in the centre of the room, raised up and ringed with steps. After putting Pantera safely on a counter, Grimmjow walked towards it, quickly figuring out how to make the magic work. The pool filled with hot water, and … bubbles. Bubbles… _riiiiight_. He snorted.

Vellena was shucking her clothes. He tossed his fundoshi on the floor, and stepped gratefully into the warm water. Vellena slid into the pool across from him, nearly vanishing in the piles of bubbles. He grinned. If he couldn't see her, she couldn't see him. He sank into the foam, crawling along the bottom of the pool. Underneath the water, he held his breath and opened his eyes, spotting her.

She didn't appear to notice as he snuck closer. He got right beside her, and popped up right next to her, erupting out of the bubbles. "Boo!" he said.

She gave a little gasp and a tiny jerk, before giving him an incredulous look. Her mouth twitched into a smile. He grinned again. There was a small pile of suds on her hair and she looked ridiculous – and sexy. Let's not forget sexy. Moving easily in the water, he straddled her lap and pulled her close, stealing her mouth in a kiss.

"Again?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly, when he let her breathe again.

He chuckled, shifting in her lap. He was getting hard again already. He smiled.

"Don't you need rest?"

"Naw," Grimmjow replied, thumbing her nipples. "You?"

She shuddered under his touch. "Not really," she purred.

* * *

Some time later, they finished washing and got out of the pool, to discover that the tattered remains of their clothes had been whisked away and replaced with new garments. Grimmjow was a little surprised to find that the outfit that waited for him was a near perfect replica of his old Espada uniform (which had probably met an unfortunate end somewhere in the bowels of Icecrown Citadel, along with his mail), save for the fact that the fabric was a little softer and it was dark, midnight blue where his old clothes had been black. Examining it more closely, he realized the white was tinged with blue too. Laric. Had to be.

"Gonna stare at them all day or are you going to put them on?" Vellena asked, shrugging into her shirt. Her shirt, which was not blue, he noted with a touch of annoyance. It was green, matching her hair. The breeches she squirmed (delightfully) into were a darker green. Laric was a cross-dressing, colour-coordinating freak.

Wordlessly, he put them on, then found Pantera and slid the blade through his sash. They exited the bathroom. Grimmjow spotted one of those floating blue magic things.

"Hey blueberry," he demanded. The blue thing turned to them.

"Yessss?" it said, in a hollow-sounding voice.

"Where's Laric?"

"Thissss way…" it said, turning and floating away. Grimmjow and Vellena followed it.

"So, where the fuck are we anyway?" the arrancar asked as they followed the floating blob of magic.

"Laric's tower," Vellena said. When Grimmjow gave her a 'thank-you, Captain Obvious' look, she clarified. "Somewhere on a floating rock in Netherstorm, in the Outlands. That's all I know."

"Oh," he said. "I take it that elf and dwarf made it through the garganta and found you all right?"

"Yeah. I was a little surprised when they came out of there. I was… hoping it was you."

"Sorry to disappoint," he said drily.

"They… told me about the Lich King."

"Yeah," he said. He didn't want to think about that. Just the thought of being controlled by that guy, it was enough to make him shudder. He licked his lips. "That wasn't the best three days of my life, that's for sure."

"I'm sorry," she said. Right. She'd been through that herself, or something similar, before becoming free.

"'Course the days before it weren't too great either," he continued.

"What did they do?" she gave him a solemn look.

"Oh, the usual," he said, lightly, "interrogation, trying to convince me to come over to their side, torture by an inept idiot…"

She stopped. "Grimmjow, I'm sorry," she said.

"Hey, it's not your fault I got caught," he said, a little harder than he intended. "Besides, didn't the dwarf and the night elf tell you? We killed the bitch who did it."

She eyed him. He grinned. Then the grin fell. "They… runed Pantera," he said, voice quiet and hard. Her eyes met his. He continued. "It was the worst thing I've ever experienced. I've never felt pain like that." She flinched. He knew she was thinking about the offer she'd made, to rune his zanpakutō. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her cool blue eyes. "It's ok, Vellena. You didn't know what would have happened if we'd tried. Now we know. Nothing is ever going to mar Pantera again."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly.

"You know, I couldn't release with the runes in Pantera. That's the only thing that allowed Arthas to get me. If I'd been able to take my resurrección, it might have been different," he said. "Next time, I am going to destroy that fucker."

"He has a lot to answer for." Vellena said.

"Hn." They started following the magical servant again, which had stopped and waited patiently for them to continue. "There's more, but that can wait till we get to the others," Grimmjow said as they walked.

The servant brought them too a door, which it opened. They stepped into a dining hall, where a table was laid out with all kinds of food, all of which looked _real_ good to Grimmjow right now. He was starved. He caught sight of four familiar faces seated at the table – Gorric and Kennana sat next to each other (and Grimmjow could see even from here that they had recently hooked up, the way they were oriented towards each other like that). Orfeo sat across from them, and Laric was at the head of the table.

"Welcome, you two. Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable," Laric said. Grimmjow grunted and found a chair. Vellena sat wordlessly next to him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Grimmjow! I hope you're not feeling too sick from resurrection," Kennana piped at him, eyes twinkling.

"Thanks, Kennana. I was feeling kind of crappy this morning but it's mostly passed," he replied. Resurrection sickness, huh? "But don't think we're out of the woods yet. Aizen's in Azeroth and he's working with Arthas."

Orfeo looked up from spearing a slice of roast something or other. Kennana's ears dropped. Gorric's eyes suddenly got hard. Beside him, Vellena blanched. Laric dropped his fork.


	23. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going out of town for a bit and will not have my computer available, but I will resume posting when I return.

"So much for peace and quiet," muttered Vellena. Shit. Aizen. In Azeroth. Of all the really really shitty things that could happen, that had to be near the top of the list. And working with Arthas. "Is there any _good_ news?" she asked.

"Well, they don't exactly _love_ each other. More like tolerate each other's presence and pretend like they don't hate each other and wouldn't double-cross the other at a moment's notice," Grimmjow said as he reached for some meat. She wondered how he could be so cavalier about this. This was a disaster. The others knew enough of her mutual history with the arrancar to be familiar with the name of Aizen and realize that this was _not_ a good thing. Laric, though, looked like he fully comprehended what this could mean.

"Did he bring the Hōgyoku?" Laric asked. Vellena realized that he knew _a lot_ about Grimmjow. Grimmjow's lack of reaction clinched it – it was clear the arrancar had told the mage a lot.

"Yeah."

"That's… _not good,_" Laric said.

"Yeah, you're telling me. It turned a lich named Mordanis into… something else." Neither Vellena nor Grimmjow missed Laric's sudden jerk at the name. Grimmjow eyed the mage with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You _know_ that name… alright, Laric, _out with it,_" the arrancar snarled.

Laric looked down at his plate. He actually looked ashamed. Vellena was surprised – since she'd first met the man, he'd been nothing but arrogance and bluster.

"When I knew him he wasn't calling himself that. He was just John Weaver from Westfall, fresh to the world of magic. He was… my apprentice once," Laric said, in a subdued voice. "It's my fault he's a lich now. He wanted more power, and I thought to keep him from it, to make him go slow – well, he found his own way to it. Through Arthas."

"Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em, Laric," Grimmjow growled acidly. The mage seemed to sink lower in his chair.

"It's a curse," said the mage. "My father cursed me, you see. To always be disappointed by my students. He's dead though, died not long ago. I'd hoped it broke the curse, but…" Laric looked up, gave Grimmjow a pointed glare. Grimmjow glared right back.

"Oh! This Aizen, with this Hoagie-thing, what's that mean, I mean, for us?" Kennana interrupted, breaking the glaring contest.

"It means we're going to have to either kill him or send him back to my world, and fast, before he can turn the Lich King's army into something even worse than it already is. He wants 100,000 souls out of the deal, and last I saw, it looked like Arthas was going to give it – in the form of the armies of his enemies," Grimmjow said. Then he gave a sharp, bitter bark of laughter. "Did you know, Vellena, that all of us arrancar, all of us Espada, we were just nothing more than _distractions_ to keep that Kurosaki kid and Seireitei busy? They _all_ died, every single one of them. He killed Harribel himself." His tone was bitter.

All of those powerful beings… just a distraction. Just cannon-fodder. Vellena couldn't believe it, that a commander would be so wasteful with his troops. That kind of sociopathy and that kind of power, teaming up with Arthas, oh… this was _really not good_. "Shit," she said.

"Yeah." He gave another short laugh and stared at the plate of meat in front of him.

"Grimmjow, is Arthas still trying to get in your head right now?" Gorric asked suddenly. Vellena realized what the other Death Knight was thinking. For them, as for the Forsaken, Arthas was a constant presence attempting to regain control.

"No, I think he kind of expected me to stay dead," Grimmjow said.

"That makes sense. There was a _huge_ amount of resistance when I tried to bring you back. The spirit intervened, or I probably wouldn't have succeeded," Kennana said.

"The spirit?" Grimmjow asked. "Is that the floating chick in the sheet, with the wings?"

"Aye, her! Last time I almost touched her bubbies!" Orfeo interjected, with a slightly dreamy smile. The dwarf became aware that everyone was staring at him with slightly dumbfounded looks. "Wot? She's got a nice rack! Guy's got ta do _somethin'_ while waitin' fer a rez."

"Maybe I should stop reviving you…" Kennana said lightly, "you're starting to take it for granted."

"Eh… no need fer hasty decisions, lass…" Orfeo said quickly.

"So if he's not trying to get into your head, maybe we can safely conclude that he doesn't realize you're alive again," Gorric said, steering the conversation away from Orfeo. Vellena nodded.

"That seems like a safe assumption," she agreed.

"Then he doesn't know you're able to tell us all you know about his plans. We need to speak with Highlord Mograine," Gorric insisted.

"You're gonna have to be careful who you speak to. Arthas has spies in Shadow Vault," Grimmjow said.

Vellena and Gorric exchanged glances. The thought was nearly unthinkable – traitors among them? To have gone through the betrayal at Light's Hope, and yet _still_ serve Arthas… of one's own free will? What a horrible idea.

"Grimmjow…" Laric interrupted, thoughtfully. "How much do you remember of your time with Arthas, and how much of their planning did you witness."

"I remember everything, and I saw a lot of their planning. Arthas liked to keep me around when Aizen was there, because it annoyed Aizen so much to see me under the Lich King's control. Heck, Arthas liked to keep me around in general, I was his new favourite toy. He only sent me out when he did because he was going to use me at Shadow Vault, to convince his enemies that they needed to call in reinforcements. That's his plan; use a number of feints to draw in the armies of his enemies, and then when they're all gathered there ready to attack…" Grimmjow smacked his fist, "Aizen makes the King's Key."

"Aizen gets his trinket, and Arthas gets his opponents destroyed in one fell swoop," Laric said.

"Yeah, pretty much," agreed Grimmjow, before taking a huge bite of food. Apparently hunger reigned right now in Grimmjowland. She wondered when the last time he ate had been.

"So, what happens now?" Gorric asked.

Grimmjow finished chewing. "I have some ideas. The way I see it, we can't afford to have Aizen working with Arthas. The longer they work together, the more powerful Arthas' forces are going to get, and the harder they'll be to take down. So we need to go in and kill them both, and fast."

"How exactly do you propose to do _that_?" Laric asked, somewhat acerbically. "I doubt the Lich King is going to open his doors for you and invite you on in, and he's got all kinds of wards against teleportation and movements that _he_ doesn't control directly. Otherwise someone would have put a knife in his back long since. Hell, it was all _I_ could do just to find out if you were alive or dead."

"I doubt his wards cover garganta. And as far as either of them are concerned, Aizen is the only one who can use that technique in this world. If they've even thought of that. I can take a group of warriors _right_ to Arthas' throne room."

"Garganta?" Kennana interrupted.

"The portal Grimmjow used to get you and Orfeo out of Icecrown Citadel," Vellena explained.

"Oh," the other night elf replied. She looked thoughtful. Beside her, Gorric looked just as thoughtful.

"What about my garganta?" Vellena asked.

"I don't think Aizen's aware you could use it. You hid your knowledge very well in Hueco Mundo. I overheard him discussing travel between our worlds with Arthas – apparently he's of the opinion that your return here was some kind of fluke or one off," Grimmjow said.

"Have you been that careful _here_?" Laric demanded.

"Yes. We have taken pains to ensure that few, if any, observed our use of that technique," Vellena said. "The only time we didn't was when Grimmjow sent Orfeo and Kennana through to Shadow Vault, and that was plainly Grimmjow's garganta."

Gorric finally spoke up. "With your technique, we could probably get a team of assassins into Icecrown to kill them both. But I think that the success of that tactic would hinge on _no one_ knowing about our ability to do so. Because if Arthas knew about it, he'd guard against it and turn it into a trap. So we need to keep your survival a secret, Grimmjow."

Everyone was silent. "Yeah…" Grimmjow said, reluctantly.

"He's right. No one outside this room, except perhaps the Ebon Blade high command, can know you're still alive, Grimmjow," Laric agreed. "So you're going to have to stay here. No more pit fights in Dalaran, at least not until this is over. And if _any_ of you breathe a word of this outside of this tower, so help me, I'll turn you into ash." Laric's eyes flared for a moment. Vellena wondered suddenly who this mage was. That they could trust him, she had no doubt, but there was something about him that wasn't quite… normal. Even for mages.

"Nae worries there, mage," Orfeo said hastily. Kennana nodded her head quickly in agreement. Gorric just gave him a tired look.

"We _do_ need to contact Highlord Mograine and the high command," Vellena said. "They need to be appraised of the threat to our forces. And they should be given the opportunity to assemble a strike team."

"As long as I get to go, I don't care," Gorric said.

"Aye, me too," Orfeo said. Kennana nodded silently again.

"And I have a score to settle with both Arthas and _Mordanis,_" Laric said, practically spitting out the chosen name of his erstwhile apprentice.

"Don't worry. If we're going through the backdoor to fuck up Arthas and Aizen, anyone here is welcome to join me," Grimmjow said.

"You can't go _yet_ though," Laric said.

"Why the hell not?" Grimmjow demanded, eyeing the mage angrily.

"Because, I need to teach you how to defend you mind from Arthas. You didn't break free like the rest of the Death Knights and the Forsaken. You were freed by death. There's no guarantee he won't take you over again," Laric said. Grimmjow looked suddenly concerned. The arrancar was silent for a moment.

"Well, while you're at it, do you know anything to break illusions? Because I can guarantee we'll be facing them with Aizen there," Grimmjow said.

"Illusions?" Laric grinned. "Fel, yeah, I can bust illusions. I have some tricks for you."

"What about the rest of us? I don't know if I can learn any mage tricks for illusions and I got nothing," Kennana said.

"I think I can work something out," Laric replied.

"So wot 'appens now?" Orfeo asked.

"Like I said, I have some ideas…" said Grimmjow.

* * *

The Death Gate was one of many that pretty much came and went constantly from Shadow Vault these days. It wasn't worth commenting on, or noticing. The two Death Knights who exited, on the other hand, were another story. Shadow Vault had ballooned in population over the last week as warriors came from all over Azeroth and the Outlands, sensing that a final confrontation was in the air. Nevertheless, there was someone to recognize Gorric and Vellena as they stepped through the Death Gate. Recognize, and report.

Gorric had bet it would take five minutes. Vellena had bet it would take three. Vellena won. For it took all of three minutes for the two Death Knights to be approached by a higher ranked knight and ordered to report to Thassarian and Koltira Deathweaver. Wordlessly, they followed the other knight. They were led to a small room, where Mograine's two lieutenants waited. They were not invited to sit. The other knight, the one who had led them there, stood at attention at the door.

"Knights Vellena Nightwind and Gorric Bloodaxe. You've been charged with taking an unauthorized excursion in wartime. Make your report," Koltira said, without preamble. Thassarian gazed at them impassively.

"We staged a rescue mission to retrieve Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Vellena said.

"And what was the result of that mission?" Thassarian asked.

"Failure," Gorric said. Vellena looked at the floor. Gorric continued. "The Lich King was controlling Jaegerjaquez. Knight Vellena was… forced to slay him. He was not resurrectable." The orc's voice was strained.

Both of the senior ranked Death Knights were silent for a moment. Then Thassarian spoke again.

"I am sorry for your loss, Knight Vellena. Unfortunately the fact remains that you were away without leave during wartime. The attacks upon Shadow Vault have been occurring on a daily basis, and it is clear that the final confrontation with the Lich King is fast approaching," Thassarian said.

"Fortunately for you two," Koltira stated, "we need you too badly on the field of battle to lock you up in the stockade. However, we are going to have to demote you both to the rank of Scout."

"That is acceptable," Gorric sighed. Vellena said nothing. She continued looking at the floor.

"Very well. You are dismissed, Scouts Gorric and Vellena," Thassarian said. He and his fellow commander rose, nodding to the knight standing at attention in dismissal. The other knight left. Vellena did not grin, despite feeling like it. Not even Death Knights were immune to the rumor mill. By three hours' time, Shadow Vault would be abuzz with the news.

"Commander Deathweaver… may I speak with you privately for a moment?" Gorric asked politely. Koltira paused. "I suppose it will do no harm. Please follow me." The orc and blood elf exited the room.

"Commander Thassarian, I am afraid I must ask the same," Vellena stated politely. Thassarian gave her an unreadable look.

"Scout Nightwind, you may speak freely to me. And… please accept my condolences. Have a seat," Thassarian sat back down as the door to the room closed, leaving them alone. Vellena sat.

"I am afraid we were not entirely truthful, Commander Thassarian. However, we have reason to believe that the information security of the Knights of the Ebon Blade has been… compromised. Kni—uh, Scout Bloodaxe is having this same conversation with Commander Deathweaver – of all the members of the Ebon Blade, the only three we can be sure are uncompromised are you, he, and the Highlord himself," Vellena said.

Thassarian was silent for a long moment. "Compromised… I wish I could say I didn't believe you, although I suspect you tell the truth, and that your sources are accurate. As much as I hate to think it. Please continue."

"I'm afraid I can't say much here. Gorric and I would like to have a formal debriefing, with you and Commander Deathweaver, and Highlord Mograine. No one else, in a secured location. Perhaps in the room where Highlord Mograine initially debriefed me upon my return from Hueco Mundo, in the Ebon Hold," she said.

Again, Thassarian was silent for a long moment, clearly thinking. "I suspect I should accede to your desires, Scout Nightwind. And soon. If you are indeed correct about the compromise of our forces, then Koltira and I need to speak with Highlord Mograine immediately. You'll have your meeting, tomorrow. In the meantime, I don't think I should have to tell you to keep all of this quiet, should I?"

"No, my lord," Vellena said. Thassarian nodded.

"Tomorrow, Scout Nightwind."

Vellena rose, and bowed. She exited the room.


	24. Waiting Game

They had been correct about the rumor mill. Before the day was out, Vellena had been approached by a number of people, some offering condolences, others wishing to fish for more information about what happened. Vellena played the part of a distraught Death Knight lover – it wasn't difficult. Just never show emotion and act vaguely depressed. Fortunately no one ever expected emotional excesses from Death Knights.

Gorric stayed at her side, fellow knight in disgrace and fellow mourner. His presence helped deter some of the inquiries, but not all of them. Of course, they didn't want to deter all of them. They wanted news of Grimmjow's 'death' and their 'failure' to resurrect him to trickle back to Aizen and the Lich King.

The night passed uneventfully, and the morning found Gorric and Vellena Death Gating to Acherus, the Ebon Hold.

The two Death Knights made their way to the meeting chamber. Highlord Darion Mograine, Thassarian, and Koltira Deathweaver were the only others in the chamber. As Gorric and Vellena entered, Mograine gestured for them to take a sit. They did so. The door was closed and locked behind them. Vellena used the opportunity to surreptitiously check the device Laric had provided her with. The little light blinked blue, indicating that there were no other parties observing the meeting. She pressed a button.

"Scouts Bloodaxe and Nightwind. My commanders informed me that you wished to meet with me. Because you have served the Ebon Blades well in the past, I agreed. But we are under constant attacks now from the forces of the Scourge, so we need to make this quick—," Mograine cut off abruptly as a garganta widened somewhere behind Vellena and Grimmjow stepped out. "Sir Jaegerjaquez. Rumor had you dead," the Highlord stated drily. So even the Highlord listened to the rumor mill. Interesting.

"Yeah, a necessary fiction I'm afraid. Your information security has been compromised," Grimmjow said.

"I beg your pardon?" Mograine asked. Thassarian and Koltira shifted slightly in their seats. Grimmjow pulled the chair beside Vellena out and lounged in it, completely at ease.

"This might illustrate it for you: Operation Broken Aegis, scheduled for a few days from now, supposed to make use of a 'secret gnomish device' to penetrate the walls of Icecrown? The Lich King knows all about it, and he's already had the device sabotaged. It will instead blow up and kill the operating crew," Grimmjow said, cavalierly. The three Death Knight commanders stared at him.

"How did you know that, that's classified…" Thassarian's voice trailed off. "We have a leak," he said.

"Yeah, you have a leak," agreed Grimmjow.

"Do you know who the leak _is_?" Koltira demanded.

"No. The only reason I know you have a leak at all is because Arthas was bragging to Aizen about it. He didn't see fit to name the spy. All I know is the leak is highly placed, and not any of you three – he complained about being unable to suborn you. Aizen offered suggestions."

"Aizen? Who is that again?" Mograine asked, brows wrinkling.

"You might remember me mentioning him in my initial briefing. My old boss, from my world. He's here, and he's joined forces with Arthas, at least for the time being. All these attacks you've been experiencing? They're feints, to get the people of Azeroth to send as many warriors as possible to Shadow Vault so Aizen can kill them to make his King's Key. He needs 100,000."

The three Death Knight commanders were silent for a moment. Then Mograine spoke again. "And we're playing right into his hands. We have 30,000 people at Shadow Vault right now. Word has gotten out, the final battle is coming, and the armies are pouring in."

"How much longer until you have 100,000?" Grimmjow asked.

"Maybe a month at the most. They're not all under Ebon Blade command – but we haven't been turning anyone away."

"Then that's how much time you have to take out Aizen and Arthas before you lose _everything_. Because as soon as you have 100,000, they're going to move. And every single one of those warriors will die. You'll lose your army, Arthas will lose the biggest force in the world opposing him, and Aizen will get his key and go home, leaving Arthas to rule this world. Oh yeah, and if you haven't already started seeing them, you should be seeing new kinds of undead shortly – alterations of old kinds that are _far_ more powerful than they were before. That's Aizen's doing."

"We have seen these altered undead of which you speak. I am convinced you speak the truth," Koltira said, soberly. Thassarian nodded.

"As am I," the Highlord said. "What remains now is what to do about it."

"The reason we're having this meeting in secret is two-fold. Number one, you have a leak, as we've established. But number two is that Arthas doesn't know I'm alive. He expected me to stay dead. And unlike you, _I_ can get a strike team into any point in Icecrown Citadel that I want to – up to and including the Lich King's boudoir if I wanted to. But that will only be the case if Arthas _doesn't find out_ I'm still alive."

"So you'll have to stay dead, at least according to the rumor mill," Mograine agreed. "A strike team hmm? How will we put one together without tipping off Arthas?"

"That part's easy. Just don't tell them what you're assembling them for. Or make up something – I don't know, air strike against the citadel or something. It's not necessary for the strike team to know what's going on until the moment we leave for the Citadel, and by then it will be too late for a leak to blab."

"Who should be on this team?" Thassarian asked.

"The best and brightest. It shouldn't all be Death Knights – I can get the team past the worst of Arthas' defenses, but there's still going to be fighting. The team will need support. I have some members already who _will_ be going, and some suggestions whom I can't contact without tipping our hands – someone else will have to do that."

"We can manage that," Mograine stated.

"Get the group together, and start drilling them. Having the best warriors in Azeroth won't matter if they can't work together," Grimmjow said, and Mograine nodded for him to continue. "We haven't got a lot of time, unfortunately. Try to delay the incoming armies as much as you can – Aizen and Arthas can't wipe you out until there is 100,000 – all they can do is harry you. That'll buy us more time. Conduct a few training exercises – we'll do the real thing under the guise of yet another training session, that way news of the day and time we attack won't get back to Arthas. Count on them learning about the strike team – I don't think we can control that, but we can control when we hit."

The three commanders of the Ebon Blade considered the arrancar's words. Vellena could see in their body language that they agreed with Grimmjow's plan. Finally, Thassarian spoke. "I have no issues with this plan."

"Nor I," said Koltira. "You're right, I think there is no way we can avoid word escaping of the strike team. But I think you're also right about where we _can_ control secrecy."

"The plan is sound. It's our best bet, at least, for eliminating this Aizen. We might have been able to take Arthas out eventually, but with Aizen and his modifications, we will lose this war. If he can destroy Shadow Vault in a single strike, there is no way we can succeed. Your plan is the best shot we have. On the day you attack, the armies will strike too, and create a diversion. We can at least tie up their forces to allow you to do your work," Mograine said. "Nightwind and Bloodaxe, you broke ranks and disobeyed orders to retrieve Sir Jaegerjaquez. I can't publicly condone your behaviour, but once this is all over, if you survive, I can grant you your rank back at the very least. Considering the circumstances, I'm glad you did what you did. If Sir Jaegerjaquez hadn't been here to warn us, we would have lost this war of a certainty."

The meeting ended shortly after that, with Grimmjow retreating once more back through the garganta. Five people had entered the chamber, five people left it. To all observers, it would seem like nothing more than a private meeting between the high command and two wayward subordinates.

* * *

The huge tauren lounged on a bench, contemplating the group in the room with him and ignoring the steady hum of chatter. Over the last week, they'd become companions, racial barriers dissolving in the knowledge that everyone here was among _the best_, and that they had a key role to play in the struggle ahead. For the tauren, the destruction of those barriers had begun a long time ago, with the rescue of the draenei who now sat at his side, and continued with the friendships he'd made among the other races, even among those supposedly his enemies.

At his other side sat another of those who 'should be' an enemy, but had become a friend. His friendship with the night elf was bittersweet, a remnant of a friendship forged with one now lost in the war with the Lich King. A war he was here to end, to win. He didn't begrudge her place here, or that of her friends, the orc, dwarf, and night elf priestess. They, too, were among the best. And it would be an honor to fight by their sides.

He'd come to Northrend initially to test himself. But with the passing of time and the deaths of so many friends – the strange, blue-haired human merely the latest in a long string – it had become personal. So he'd leapt at the chance to get even when it was presented to him. His draenei had quite naturally followed along. What she lacked in ferocity and battle prowess, she made up for in her ability to harness the forces of nature to knit flesh and bone, to heal poison and disease, and to preserve life.

The others in the room were more familiar now than they'd been a few weeks ago. All were good – whether skilled in battle, or like his draenei, skilled in preserving life, the gathered force here was worthy, in his mind. He'd come to consider them his comrades over the last few weeks.

The tauren shifted, scratching an itch on his shoulder that he couldn't really get to through his mail. Noting it, the night elf turned her head to him with a smile. "Restless, Brosh?" she asked.

Brosh chuckled. "I'm getting a little tired of these endless training sessions. How much longer until the real thing? We've been drilling for nearly a month," he replied. His common had improved significantly over the last little while, since it had become the lingua franca of the strike team.

Vellena smiled, a rare enough sight. "I'm sure we'll get our chance, soon," she said. On the other side of the tauren shaman, Ilyanaya sighed.

"I hope so. Even I'm getting tired of this lack of action," the draenei said. Brosh chuckled at his lover's impatience. "Shouldn't someone have come now to lead this session? All I see are all of us loafing around."

"Patience, Ilya," Brosh said. "I'm sure we'll get started soon en—…" he broke off as an unfamiliar movement at the front of the room caught his eye. He squinted, unsure if he was seeing things correctly, as a dark line appeared in the air and widened, becoming door-like. Then he leaned back, eyes widened in shock, as a familiar figure stepped out of the alien portal. "Grimmjow…" he mouthed, then looked at Vellena. She was smiling, and it wasn't the smile of someone who had just discovered someone she thought had been dead was really alive. It was the smile of someone sharing a secret. She caught his eye and winked. Brosh grinned.

The chatter in the room stilled to a halt as people caught sight of the blue-haired man and his shorter, robe-clad companion. As the room became silent, Grimmjow grinned.

"Alright kids, it's about time you learned why we're really here today," Grimmjow said, voice projecting easily across the room. Brosh switched his tail and leaned forward intently, huge hands on his mail-clad thighs. Catching sight of him and Vellena, Grimmjow flashed a quick grin their way. Brosh gave him the thumbs up.

"Who the fel are you?" a blood elf rogue, known for his arrogance as well as his competence, asked from where he leaned against the wall.

"_I_ know who that is," came a voice from among the crowd. "That's Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, record holder of the highest win to loss ratio in the arena in the Dalaran sewers." Brosh recognized the speaker as a troll hunter who was an occasional combatant in the pit. The troll had lost to Grimmjow on more than one occasion, but had done so with grace. "They said you were dead, Jaegerjaquez."

"Yeah, well…" Grimmjow grinned a predatory grin, "rumors of my death were somewhat exaggerated."


	25. A Long Run Through A Dark Hall

They'd cut it a little close to the wire. Grimmjow and Vellena both knew this. There were over 90,000 people in and around Shadow Vault now, and the next few days would likely bring the last 10,000 Aizen and Arthas needed. They had to move _now_, even though it still felt like they weren't ready.

Nighttimes, spent in Laric's tower after she had used garganta to slip out of quarters that the mage had kindly warded against tampering and intrusion, were the only time she'd had with Grimmjow over the last month. That was when they did their planning, where she relayed the progress of the strike team. The time for planning was over now. Now was the time for action. Vellena took a deep breath, calming the sudden surge of anticipation that rushed through her.

She had managed to obtain replacements for Grimmjow's destroyed equipment, and had smuggled them to him, despite Laric's huffing about the robes he'd made being superior. The arrancar now stood before the assembled strike team, looking immaculate and deadly in the new armour. The uproar of voices that had begun at his appearance quelled suddenly as he silently gave off a blast of reiatsu. Beside him, Laric smirked at the sudden silence.

"I'll bet you're all wondering what I'm doing here, and why your normal training session hasn't kicked off as usual," Grimmjow said. "The answer is quite simple. We're going to go kill Arthas. Right now."

Uproar. Amid the noise, Thassarian entered the room, standing near the back and watching the proceedings.

Grimmjow smiled and lifted a quelling hand. The room stilled. "I'm afraid it won't be a sky strike, like you've been told. But then, I'm sure some of you have noticed that although you were _told_ sky strike, you were drilling in ground tactics." Several heads nodded. "We're taking a back door straight into the Lich King's fortress and messing up his shit. Sounds like fun, huh?"

"Wait a second, I just realized I've got my second-best wand with me; I'm just going to pop to the bank and get my best wand—," a gnome warlock said, rising. Vellena grinned, standing. There was a tearing sound as she used sonído to appear right beside the gnome. A gauntleted fist rested on his shoulder.

"Then use the second-best wand. There'll be no leaving now, except to Icecrown Citadel," the Death Knight said. Everyone who was privy to what was really going on knew there were information leaks. Vellena suspected she had her hands on one of them. She forced the gnome to sit, taking a seat beside him. The small creature blanched and tried to avoid looking at her, or anything other than his feet. Vellena could smell his fear.

"Scout Nightwind is right," Thassarian began, causing heads to whip to the back where he was standing. The Ebon Blade walked to the front of the room to join Grimmjow and Laric. "At this point, we do not have time to waste in trips to Dalaran. The main part of the assembled forces are marching on Icecrown as we speak – Commander Koltira and the Highlord have joined with Tirion Fordring and the other factions and have started their move. If we do not act fast, that whole army is going to be obliterated."

This time, there was dead silence until one brave soul finally managed a weak "…what?"

"Arthas is not without his own allies. Some of you know I'm… not from Azeroth…" Grimmjow began, "and another man from _my_ world has thrown in his lot with the Lich King. He has a technique that can kill every man and woman in the Shadow Vault legions in an instant, _and_ make himself more powerful in the meantime. We're going to kill him too, because if he's left alive, Arthas will destroy our army, and then there won't be anything in your world powerful enough left to stop him."

"Jaegerjaquez is right. Which is why you have been assembled today. We will be splitting into two teams – one larger group will accompany me in an assault on Arthas directly. A smaller group, lead by Jaegerjaquez, will destroy Aizen, this ally of the Lich King's who threatens us all," Thassarian said.

"Wait a moment, how the fel are we going to _get into_ Icecrown Citadel? Last I checked it wasn't a matter of just walking up to the gates and asking the Lich King to kindly open up the doors for us," the snarky rogue from before drawled.

"Leave that to me," grinned the blue-haired ex-Espada.

"You have a way in?" Brosh asked.

In answer, Grimmjow tapped the air beside him. A garganta peeled open, forming a doorway into the darkness. Vellena noted it was much taller and wider than usual – that was good. "You could say that," the arrancar said.

"Since Jaegerjaquez has kindly opened the way into the Citadel, we should be off," Thassarian stated. The gathered strike force began to rise and move towards the garganta in a more or less orderly fashion. They filed through the portal, some of them glancing about nervously as they stepped onto the wide silver path. Once everyone was through, Grimmjow stepped in himself and closed the doorway.

"Stay on the path or you'll fall forever. Start running," the arrancar said. The strike force began to run. Vellena maneuvered until she was close enough to Grimmjow to speak with him.

"Gorric, Kenna and Orfeo will accompany us to kill Aizen," she said. Grimmjow nodded, this had been decided long ago.

"Ilya and I would like to join you, if we may," Brosh's voice said from nearby. Grimmjow and Vellena realized the tauren had closed and was running just a few yards away from them.

Grimmjow grinned. "We'd be happy to have you," he replied.

"It's going to be a treat to fight _with_ you," Brosh said.

"No shit," replied Grimmjow.

"If you don't mind," a draenei paladin said, accent thick, "I would like to join you. I am afraid I have mizjudged you, Sir Jaegerjaquez." Grimmjow recognized him as the paladin that had been the second person to defeat him in the pit.

"Me too, if you'll have me." It was the troll hunter, his raptor pet at his heels as he kept pace with them.

"Haroldus and Orzul, you are both welcome to join us," Grimmjow said. "But I think we should stop there. The team taking down Arthas is going to need some star players too." The draenei and troll both chuckled at that.

The warriors, Azeroth's elite, ran down the silvery path. Grimmjow was glad that Laric had offered to help maintain the walkway – keeping it as wide and solid as it was would have been something of a strain after a while. The mage truly had incredible endurance and concentration. After about 15 minutes of running, Grimmjow gestured to Thassarian to start the halt.

"Alright, this is your stop, those of you who are going to kill the Lich King. My team will continue on, when and if we succeed in destroying Aizen, we will make our way back to you to offer our support as reinforcements," Grimmjow said. "I'm going to open the portal in a moment. It's going to let you out at the frozen throne itself, at the top of the spire. I can almost guarantee that Arthas will be there – it's his favourite place to be. If not, you can bet he'll show up as soon as he finds out you've infiltrated. Make the best of this chance. Go." He gestured, and the garganta gaped open, the cold blue Icecrown sky visible beyond.

"Charge!" Thassarian roared, and the massed strike force poured through the gate, leaving Grimmjow and his team of nine behind. The doorway snapped shut after the last warrior passed through.

"All right kids, it's our turn. I'm taking us to Aizen's room – if he's not there I can locate him by reia—uh by magic and find him. I know my way around the citadel pretty well. Let's go." They began running. It was a far shorter run this time, only a minute or two. Then they were through the garganta and into a large, dark room, spells and weapons at the ready.

The would-be assassins halted their attacks as they realized that the room was indeed empty. "He's not here," Vellena said.

"I see that," Grimmjow stated.

"Are you able to find him?" Laric asked.

"Give me a moment," the arrancar said. He closed his eyes, concentrating on pesquisa. "Next floor up." He attempted to open another garganta, eyes widening briefly in consternation when it didn't happen.

"What is it?" Vellena asked.

"Vellena, try garganta…" Grimmjow said. The night elf complied, with the same results. Her brows furrowed.

"Blocked," she stated.

"Yeah." Either someone had sensed the garganta he'd already used and blocked them, or Arthas had set something up preventing Aizen from using it to leave, but had neglected to put up one blocking anything from coming _in_. Either one was likely, and which it truly was didn't matter. "Well, we'll have to do it the slow way I guess. Fortunately, I know the way. Follow me."

Grimmjow slammed the door to the chamber open and started running. The assembled group trailed after him, springing into movement after only a moment's hesitation. Together, they dashed down the poorly lit, black stone hallway. Vellena increased her pace until she was beside him.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they ran.

"There's a staircase up to the next level down one of these halls. This way," Grimmjow said suddenly as they approached a place where two corridors crossed. He took sharp left, and the party followed. They ran on.

Vellena spared her lover a sideways glance, noting his furrowed brow. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"There's no resistance. I know we're trying for the element of surprise here, but there should be undead in these halls. Ghouls running tasks, abominations patrolling, shit like that. There's nothing," he replied.

No resistance. Grimmjow was right. Vellena could smell the miasma of rot that hung in the air wherever the Scourge was concentrated. But there had been no sign of undead, just… empty halls. If this were a bard's tale, she reflected, _this_ would be about the point where the surprise ambush occurred.

"Undead ahead!" Orzul, the troll hunter, shouted.

… Of course.

"At the stairs, too. It's a choke point and they're above us. Fuck," Grimmjow said. "At least we detected the ambush before we rounded that blind corner ahead. Be ready!" he called back to the group. "It wouldn't surprise me if they tried to teleport something in behind us to keep us on our toes."

"Orfeo, Gorric, watch the rear!" Vellena shouted.

"Alright, but I dinnae ken wot lookin' atcher rear—Ow! _Kenna!_"

"Watch for enemies, Orfeo!" Kenna's voice came.

"Oh." Orfeo's slightly disappointed exclamation was audible to Vellena's acute hearing.

"We're on it, Vellena," Gorric's voice carried to her.

"He'd better not be looking at your ass or I'm going to have to rearrange his face when we're done here," Grimmjow muttered. Vellena stifled a grin. "Here goes," he pulled Pantera from its sheath, where he had placed it while they ran. Vellena heard the sound of the party preparing arms as she herself reached for the axe strapped across her back.

They rounded the corner. The wide corridor narrowed, tapering into a staircase going up into the dimly lit fortress. At the top of the stairs stood a huge vyrkul skeleton with an enormous two-handed sword. Near its feet were large numbers of many different undead.

"We have intruders. Destroy them!" the oversized skeleton bellowed, raising its sword. The howling mob of undead began to swarm down the stairs.

"Show them no quarter!" another voice, similar in timbre, bellowed from the corridor behind them.

"We got company on this end!" Gorric yelled.

"They wasn't there a moment ago, don't blame me!" Orzul declaimed. "I only knew about the ones on the stairs."

"They probably used the teleporter; there's one back down one of the branches of the last crossroads," Grimmjow shouted as he and Vellena braced for the first wave of undead coming down the stairs. "Let's take care of this."


	26. Jitters, Redux

"If we're lucky, there won't be any souped-up Scourge in this bunch," Grimmjow muttered. Then the wave hit and he and Vellena were scything through the oncoming undead. Pantera flashed in the poor light. The two spread out enough that they wouldn't be in each other's space, but close enough that there wasn't much of a gap.

Then it was a chaos of limbs, steel, fire, and yelling. Battle in close quarters like this was rarely orderly, but somehow they managed to maintain discipline. The strike team had the advantage of having drilled together (minus Grimmjow and Laric) for almost a month. Laric and Grimmjow settled in as well as if they _had_ been drilling with the rest.

Vellena dodged a leaping geist, ducking. It went flying backwards, re-killed instantly as one of the deadly arrows fired from the hunter's massive bow struck it square in the forehead. Her axe swung out as she rose, decapitating two ghouls and dismembering another.

She vaguely felt the impact of something against her left arm, which suddenly felt heavier than it ought. She had just enough time to realize that a skeleton armed with a sword had gotten through her armour and done something probably not good when gold light flashed from Haroldus's hands. The light enveloped her, and she could move the arm freely again. She brought the flat side of her axe down on the skeleton's head, breaking bones and sending it tumbling to a pile on the ground.

"Grimmjow, there's more than we can hold back here, they just keep coming!" Brosh yelled from behind them.

"We have to get up these stairs somehow," Vellena shouted. The undead were still pouring down the stairs. They would have to fight for every step, and should they manage to gain the top, they would have to hold it. Thus far, all they had managed was to hold their ground.

"Leave that to me," Grimmjow said. "Laric, blizzard the stairs!"

Vellena could hear Laric's grunt of assent and suddenly the oncoming tide of enemies slowed as deadly shards of ice struck the stairs. Vellena and Grimmjow made short work of the assembled enemies that had made it down before the blizzard started.

"Now do the same to the attack behind us," Grimmjow barked. Vellena caught sight of the mage raising an eyebrow at this, but the grey-haired human complied. As he started to cast, before the undead on the stairs could recover, Grimmjow gestured. There was the blue flash of a mage shield springing into place in the entrance of the staircase.

"Whatever it is you think you're doing, boy, you better do it fast. That's not going to hold them for long," Laric said.

"It's not meant to," Grimmjow said.

"What?" Laric barked back, but Grimmjow was already muttering something. Inside the mage shield, a second shield, this one made of a wall of solid ice, came suddenly into being.

"Alright kids, when I say charge, go for the stairs. Laric, stop the pursuit long enough for us to get up," Grimmjow bellowed.

"You're a crazy fucker, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!" Laric shouted back. Grimmjow just grinned.

"Help me bala this thing up the stairs, Vellena," Grimmjow said.

"Bala?" Vellena asked, confused. "OK. Say the word."

"Let's start," he said. The two of them faced the barrier, arms up.

"Bala!" they shouted together. Bullets of reiatsu hit the mage shield, freezing in place in a weird pool. The mage shield encasing the block of ice glowed bright blue. Grimmjow grunted and waved his hand, and the barrier became a battering ram as it was driven up the stairs suddenly by the compressed energy of the bala assault. Vellena could hear the muffled sound of impact and crunching as the ram ploughed into undead.

"Charge!" Grimmjow shouted, running ahead with Vellena. They continued to bala the ice. Behind them, the rest of their team joined them. Laric froze the wave of undead that pressed behind them, putting up a sheet of ice of his own. Within seconds Grimmjow's ice ram had cleared to the top of the stairs, and the party poured out onto the landing. Now that the ram was clear of the narrowed staircase, Scourge began to swarm around the crumbling and abused barrier to assault the team. The battle renewed.

"That was clever," commented Laric. "I think I'm even beginning to feel proud of you."

"Yeah, well, you'd better feel proud of me. I told you, I'm good," the arrancar commented, distractedly. "Brosh, help me take down the staircase!" he bellowed, once they were all up.

The tauren's eyes widened, but he nodded, dropping an earth totem. As the rest of the party cleared the entrance, a huge earth elemental spun up from the ground and began smashing around the staircase. Vellena, Gorric and Orfeo covered Grimmjow while he fired bala after bala at the ceiling, bringing rocks down in a shower. When the earth elemental ran out of steam, Brosh instructed it to form part of a new barrier. The fragments of stone fused together.

In front of them, the ice barrier had shattered to fragments, forming a treacherous surface underfoot. While Grimmjow and Brosh worked to seal up the corridor behind them, the rest of the party held off the undead. It actually seemed like the tide was ebbing; there were fewer targets for Laric and Orzul to pick off. Now it was time to deal with the vyrkul skeleton.

Green and gold light flickered at the hands of Ilyanaya, Kennana and Haroldus as they healed wounds as fast as the plate-clad fighters at the front were taking them. Orfeo and Gorric were side-by-side, backs slightly towards each other, covering the other's flank. Nothing was getting by them. Vellena took quick stock of the battlefield situation and decided that their line would hold.

"I'm taking out that vyrkul!" she yelled, a small blast of reiatsu at her feet as she stepped on the air. The corridor had a high ceiling, high enough to allow her to clear her allies without coming into their danger zones. She took a few steps in the air and then used sonído to attack the vyrkul. She made strafing slashes with her axe at its head and shoulders, hoping to disable it. Her first two attacks hit, taking huge chunks of bone as she passed. By her third, the thing had figured out what was going on, and it countered her strike with its two-hander.

"Whoa," she heard Gorric exclaim as she flickered backwards to stand over her allies and assess her next attacks. "You need to teach me that trick."

"As if Death Knights aren't awful enough, now you're proposing having them walk on air and attack faster than the eyes can track? For the record I am against this course of action," Laric drawled, sending another fireball to transform a ghoul into a smoking pillar of charcoal.

Vellena smirked as several of her allies laughed at Laric's laconic comment. "Be glad we're on your side, then," she said. If the group felt they had time to joke around, they had this under control. She looked at the empty eye sockets of the skeleton, which was looking back at her. She spotted her advantage and flashed through the air.

Her axe clanged mightily against its sword. She flashed by, parrying and making feinting attacks intended to draw out the skeleton's limbs. With her axe in her right hand, she swung. The skeleton responded by moving to counter, obviously intending to take advantage of her weak attack. Before it could, her left hand swung up and a bala erupted from her hands, flying into its unguarded head. The bolt of energy hit with horrific force, whiplashing its head backwards. While it was disoriented, she slid towards it on the air, left hand resuming position on the hilt of her axe, and neatly decapitated the skeleton with one powerful swing. It went down.

She turned in the air to face the group, and was a little surprised to see that all the undead had fallen. The makeshift wall Grimmjow and Brosh had put together was holding for the time being, though it would probably not last. For the moment, the coast was clear. Vellena used one quick sonído and reappeared on the ground, amidst her allies.

"You really need to teach me that trick," Gorric said.

"Don't get too excited. It took her a month to learn it," Grimmjow taunted as they began to run through the corridor yet again.

"It did not!" Vellena protested. "I had sonído figured out after the second week."

"Right, it was cero you had so much trouble with," her arrancar smirked.

"Oh shut it. _Who_ still can't figure out a death coil?" she retorted.

"Like I need that with all this shit Laric's taught me."

"Hey. What I taught you is _not_ shit, boy," Laric griped.

"It's a figure of speech!" Grimmjow insisted.

"Hey Grimmjow," Orzul called. "That mage, he teach you that trick you use to clear the stairs?"

"I taught him the shields. He did the rest of it himself," Laric said.

"At least you're giving credit where it's due, old man," Grimmjow snorted.

"It was pretty good, I'll admit," Laric replied.

"You're too stuck to your traditionalism, Laric. You got all these spells but all I ever see you use on these undead are the same ones over and over again. Fireball, fireball, fireball. Oh, maybe a pyroblast or two. Get creative," Grimmjow said.

"They're effective," Laric protested.

"Che. It's boring."

Vellena was forcibly reminded of the banter-filled dash through garganta during the strike at Karakura Town, when they had ran interference for Ulquiorra's abduction of the Orihime girl. There were some exceptions – there was genuine camaraderie and friendship in this group. The Espada had only barely tolerated each others' presences.

"Oh! Do any of you actually know where you're going, or are we running and mocking each other just for the sake of running and mocking each other?" Kenna interrupted. Behind her, Haroldus gave an amused snort.

"Yeah, I know where we're going," Grimmjow replied. He skidded to a halt as they reached another intersection, and he closed his eyes. Vellena knew he was using pesquisa. "This way," Grimmjow said, gesturing to the corridor to the right. "It's not far now. There'll be another blind corner ahead; there's a large gathering hall at the end of that."

"And then what? We don't know anything about this Aizen fellow," Brosh said. Beside him, Ilyanaya nodded. "We're going in blind."

"Oh," Grimmjow said. For a moment it looked like he was going to stop, then he apparently decided against it. "Right. Um. Shit," he said, sounding nonplussed.

"Aizen is from the same world as Grimmjow. He is a powerful warrior, one of the strongest of that world. Much of his power is kept in his sword, which he can use to cast very strong illusions," Vellena said. "He also has magic; it's different from the magic of our world. Some of it's stuff like you might expect, lightning bolts and fireballs and things like that, but there's other tricks."

"Yeah, kidō," Grimmjow said. "I hate that shit. If you know any ways to stop spellcasting, use it on him. He's a kidō master. He doesn't just do illusions, either. His bankai allows him to hypnotize people."

"Mind control?" Brosh asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Grimmjow replied.

"Don't worry. I got something," the tauren said.

"Wot's 'bankai'?" Orfeo asked.

"It's a special ability of his sword," Vellena replied. Hypnosis? Ugh, she hadn't known that. She had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to suck.

"Are you sure you can kill this guy?" Ilyanaya asked.

"If I was sure I could kill him he would have been dead in Las Noches and I wouldn't have been the Sexta Espada," Grimmjow remarked. "I would have been running the place." He grinned, and then continued, "however I think that _we_ can kill him. And I got some tricks up my sleeve that I haven't shown anyone." He glanced back at Laric, and then corrected himself, "well, almost anyone."

"Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better about this," said the draenei shaman, with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well why not? Brosh kicks my ass on a regular basis. With you guys around, how can I lose?" Grimmjow exclaimed. Hearing this, the great tauren chuckled.

"Is zis all we need to know?" Haroldus asked. "Illusions, hypnosis, powerful spells?"

"Um, not quite. He's a genius," Grimmjow answered. Laric snorted derisively, and Grimmjow continued. "No, I'm serious. He's fucking smart. He managed to keep an entire army fooled about who and what he was for 100 years. Hells, he kept _us Espada_ fooled long enough to use us as cannon fodder. The ten most powerful beings in my realm. Don't underestimate Aizen." He tossed Laric a glance, "hey old man, time to pass out the shinies, ne?"

"Stop calling me that," yhe mage said, digging in a bag at his belt. The grey-haired human started tossing small, shining objects to the running group. Vellena caught hers and neatly inserted it into her pierced ear. Kenna, Orfeo and Gorric followed suit, and the other companions realized what was going on and equipped the devices.

"What's this for?" Brosh asked.

"Illusion buster. You have to activate it, but it'll allow you to see the truth," Grimmjow replied.

"Oh, that's good," the tauren replied.

"Is this the corner?" Vellena said, interrupting.

"Yeah, that's it. Get ready. It's fun time." Pantera was out of its sheath again with a metallic _shing_. "Just around this corner. Laric, get ready to blow the door."

"Making an entrance, are we?" the mage asked.

"Che. You better believe it."


	27. Party With A Lich

The door blew inwards, flying off its enourmous hinges, metal distorting from the force of Laric's spell. No sooner had it cleared than the group of ten poured through the opening. They halted, the heavies spreading out to guard the support and ranged; the whole unit moved like a well oiled machine.

At the other end of a huge circular chamber configured in the Lich King's characteristic toothed-gear design, two men sat calmly playing chess. Two brunette heads lifted to face the invading assault team. One pair of brown eyes and one pair of glowing red eyes flickered over the heroes assessingly. In the alcoves of the room, two-headed vyrkul skeletons suddenly came to life, stepping out and towards the intruders.

"That was somewhat earlier than expected," one of the chess players said, the red-eyed one. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes, giving him a hate glare.

"I thought you said he was dead, Mordanis," the other said, lightly. "In fact, the two of you were quite insistent that he wouldn't be coming back. Yet, here he is." Aizen rose from his game. "We shall have to continue this game after we finish tidying up the room. This time, there shall be no errors."

Mordanis said nothing in response, merely rising and turning to face the party, which was in the process of engaging the oncoming skeletons. Grimmjow and Vellena kept their eyes on Aizen and Mordanis. Aizen hadn't changed since the last time they'd seen him - he was still wearing the same outfit he'd worn in Hueco Mundo; his hair was done the exact same way, and he still had that slightly superior half-smile he habitually sported.

But Mordanis had changed. Grimmjow had seen him like this once before, just before he'd been sent out under Arthas's orders and had died at Vellena's hands. Excepting his glowing red eyes, the man didn't look all that odd. He appeared to be a perfectly normal human with clear, fair skin and chestnut brown hair, of moderate build and height. He looking nothing like the illusion or transformation he had used to walk around the Dalaran sewers without being detected, and he looked even less like a lich.

Grimmjow was well aware that Mordanis had been... arrancarized. He'd witnessed the process. Unfortunately, he still didn't know the full effects.

"Be careful," the ex-Espada muttered to the undead night elf. She nodded, shifting her grip on the axe.

Aizen's smile curled slightly larger and his hand dropped to the hilt of Kyōka Suigetsu. Mordanis's hand likewise dropped to the hilt of the sword at his side. Surely they were not going to release their swords so soon? Grimmjow arched an eyebrow.

Vellena suddenly parried the sword of one of the huge skeletons and countered, hitting back with enough force to shatter its ulna. Grimmjow shifted. With a fluid motion he slashed Pantera through another giant skeleton, cutting through its sword cleanly. His zanpakutō bit through bone effortlessly. He made short work of that skeleton, and then turned to the next.

There were about 15 of the damn things in total, but from what he could tell, his little unit was holding together just fine. They'd already managed to take out three, not counting the two he and Vellena dispatched. They couldn't afford to let the team get bogged down with this... this... _trash_, letting Mordanis and Aizen threaten unopposed. He and Vellena turned back to the two enemies.

Mordanis and Aizen were both looking at him. Him and only him. Grimmjow knew they could keep the rest of the group harried long enough to focus on taking himself and Vellena out. He suspected he could kill Mordanis if they were to face off toe-to-toe, but with Aizen in the mix, it was definitely an unbalanced fight and not in Grimmjow's favour. Vellena's presence helped, but he didn't think it would be enough.

But it _wasn't_ just Grimmjow and Vellena. "John Weaver!" bellowed Laric, casually obliterating a skeleton and stepping into place near Grimmjow and Vellena. "You look rather unlichlike. Don't tell me you've finally seen the error of your ways?"

Mordanis's attention immediately switched from Grimmjow to Laric. His eyes narrowed. Beside him, Aizen looked on impassively, unconcerned.

"Laric? I had wondered where the blue-headed fool had learned magecraft. Only _you_ would be so foolish as to train him. I have a new name now, old fool. I am Mordanis!" the erstwhile lich yelled. He raised a hand and shadowy magic pulsed in his grasp. "The Lich King has given me power you can only _dream_ about, and Aizen's Hōgyoku has merely refined that further." He launched a searing blast of soul-destroying magic straight for the old mage.

Grimmjow didn't have time to do anything about it. He, like Vellena, was suddenly focused on taking out the trash and getting to Aizen before the shinigami bastard could come up with some horrible tactic that would wipe them out in a single move. Kyōka Suigetsu was already unsheathed, and there was a familiar smug, all-knowing smile on its bearer's face.

Maybe, just _maybe_, they had actually managed to catch the bastard by surprise. However, Grimmjow knew that advantage would be lost quickly. Aizen was just too damn smart. The former Espada was well aware that there were abilities of Aizen's that even the highest ranking of his former compatriots did not know. Whatever the assault team managed to do, they would have to do it quickly.

Laric had managed to dodge or shield against Mordanis's seething volley of hate-fueled magic. The old mage had his staff raised high and was shouting imprecations to his former apprentice. Grimmjow had to divert his attention to assisting Vellena with taking out the last two-headed skeleton between him and Aizen. As the shattered bones fell to the ground, the two rushed forward.

Aizen just smiled and stood there. Grimmjow swung his zanpakutō, feeling the blade tear through cloth and flesh. He felt slightly surprised. Could Aizen truly just sit back and take it? He parried Kyōka Suigetsu's sudden riposte and struck back. Aizen was fighting back now. That was more like it. But was that a mortal wound?

Where was Vellena? Wasn't she supposed to be assisting in the assault on Aizen? He turned his head and caught sight of her struggling against a skeleton that was threatening to bust in on his little party with Aizen. Well enough.

"Is that the best you've got, you old sack of dung?" Grimmjow heard Mordanis shouting an insult at Laric. "I have something to show you, old fool. _Dissolve, Pudrirse!_" Power radiated from the erstwhile lich as he released his zanpakutō. Grimmjow momentarily broke off from his assault on Aizen to witness the unleashing of Mordanis's new, improved, arrancarized form. The undead spell caster expanded, growing to twice his previous lich size. He still looked like a lich... vaguely. If liches were routinely plated in thick bone, with additional armour in the form of heavy chains floating lazily around most of their body, that is. Black energy poured from Mordanis in waves, making even Grimmjow feel uneasily.

Then the blue-haired arrancar had to defend against Aizen, who seemed to have decided that Grimmjow had enough of a look at the Hōgyoku's handiwork on Mordanis. Grimmjow was holding his own admirably well. Aizen's swordsmanship seemed to have suffered during his vacation in Azeroth. Grinning fiercely, Grimmjow raised his left hand and released a sudden cero, blasting off Aizen's head. The corpse of his former master crumpled to the ground, and Grimmjow turned in triumph to end the battle by destroying Mordanis.

The lich and the mage were still flinging insults. Laric was shouting something about being unimpressed with Mordanis.

"My father's curse is clearly still active. You are still a disappointment to me, John," Laric lamented loudly.

"Ah, yes, your _father_. And how _is_ your father these days? That's right. He's _dead_. As you will soon be, Laric. Or should I say, _Laricgos_?" Mordanis bellowed in response, his voice reaching every ear in the chamber.

Grimmjow watched as the heads of his comrades suddenly flickered in Laric's direction, identical expressions of surprise on everyone's face, before they had to turn back to their own battles. What was that all about? Laric looked right pissed off, though. Mordanis pulled something Grimmjow didn't recognize out from under his bone armour.

"Do you see _this_, Laricgos?" Mordanis's voice was taunting.

"I see it, _John,_" Laric snarled.

"Mark it well, Laricgos of the Blue Flight. It marks your doom! A scale, from above your father's very heart. Yes, from Malygos himself. Witness your downfall, old fool, and prepare to embrace the Scourge!" Mordanis shouted, brandishing the flat, pale blue object threateningly. The lich channeled dark energy into the thing, and a beam of evil-looking shadow arced from the flat blue plate to lash against Laric's chest. Laric screamed, a sound of pure anguish.

Grimmjow was still confused. Malygos? Where had he heard that name... Oh holy shit...

Before the eyes of the assault group, Laric's form twisted, writhing in agony, becoming huge, blue... and very very draconic. Grimmjow's eyes bugged in amazement.

All this time, that old fucker was a _dragon?_ Well _shit_! Don't that beat all.

But whatever Mordanis was doing to Laric (or should Grimmjow now think of him as Laricgos? Dilemmas, dilemmas.) did not look comfortable. The dragon mage's form had settled, but he was still twisting as though in extreme pain, bellowing at the top of his lungs. As Grimmjow watched, stunned, the dragon's scales began to stand up, then peel away, flying off as though flayed, beginning with the fine, tiny scales at the ends of his paws, tail and muzzle. The process was agonizingly slow. Red blood splashed from Laric, flung by his thrashing. A small amount splattered across Grimmjow's cheek.

That looked fucking painful, and Grimmjow didn't think it boded well for his sensei. He gripped his zanpakutō a little tighter, before rushing forward with a sonído. Mordanis was good – even with half his concentration focused on torturing Laric, he still had enough in him to send some awful spell flinging at Grimmjow. Grimmjow countered it, vaguely relieved when the counterspell actually worked.

Where was Vellena? He could use her help in taking out the lich right now. Oh. What was she doing, still fighting that skeleton? Shouldn't she have killed it by now? He dodged a shadowy bolt of something or other and struck, slightly surprised when Mordanis parried Pantera with his claws without taking any real damage. A few splinters of bone flung off of the lich, but nothing more. Disconcerted, Grimmjow leapt back, hanging in the air and reassessing his strategy. Idly, he thumbed his ear, where he had thrust the earring through his lobe earlier. It itched.

Suddenly, the battle before him changed. Instead of fighting a skeleton, Vellena was in a pitched battle with Gorric. The rest of his assault team were intently facing up against _one another_. Grimmjow could see both the reality and what Aizen intended him to see blurring together sickeningly. He looked back at Laric and Mordanis, only to discover them unchanged. Then his gaze flicked to Aizen.

A headless ghoul lay unmoving where the 'corpse' of Aizen had been before, the illusion superimposed over it. Grimmjow swore fluently. Illusion! He should have known Aizen went down too easily. Grimmjow should have been on guard for illusions. Not to mention, Grimmjow should have fought better than he had – Aizen's subtle manipulation probably influenced the arrancar's tactics.

But, where was Aizen? He extended his pesquisa. Aizen was nowhere in the chamber. He was back in his room. The shinigami overlord of Hueco Mundo probably expected Mordanis to take care of them; either that or he had abandoned the lich to his fate, just as he had his Espada.

Gods be damned! They'd closed the fucking passageway behind them too! They'd have to bust that open again!

"Use your fucking trinkets, you idiots!" Grimmjow yelled. Whatever hypnosis Aizen was using didn't filter out his words. The combatants paused suddenly, reaching for their ears. And then they reacted as they realized they'd been fighting their own allies. Ilyanaya swore in draenic, channeling healing spells to her comrades. Kenna and Haroldus followed suit. Vellena goggled at Gorric, who gave her a chagrined look.

"Aizen's not here, but Mordanis is, and if we don't take care of him, he's going to finish off Laric! Concentrate fire on the lich!" Grimmjow shouted again. Then he dodged Mordanis's next bolt of magic.

"Do what you will, 'heroes'," Mordanis's voice was mocking. "Laricgos will soon be a frostwyrm, and you'll soon follow him into the Scourge. You can't defeat me!" the lich sneered contemptuously. "The Hōgyoku has made me invinc—," He broke off as Brosh's heavy mace smashed into his side as the mighty tauren charged up. Electricity crackled. Bone flew.

So Mordanis's armour could be brute-forced through? Grimmjow grinned. And then he ran his hand down his blade's length, screaming "_Grind, Pantera!_" Power flared through him as he assumed his resurrección. The shockwave nearly knocked his allies from their feet, and small shards of bone flaked off of Mordanis. Then Grimmjow sent his explosive bolts at the lich.

Those did damage. Mordanis lurched at the hits, losing more of his armour, and some of his rotating chains shattering. "We can wear him down. _Do it!_" Grimmjow roared.

With a battle cry, Gorric charged the lich, dodging bolts of black energy as he ran. Vellena and Orfeo joined in. Brosh was knocked back momentarily, and rose to close again, pounding away at the undead. At the rear, Orzul was shooting individual links from the rotating chains, sending them crashing uselessly to the ground as they were broken. His raptor rushed forward, tail waving as it ran.

They weren't escaping unharmed. Many of Mordanis's spells hit. Some almost bad enough to kill. Twice, Grimmjow saw combatants drop, only to be flooded with the healing of the three healer standing clustered around Orzul and rise again to fight. Ilya, Kenna, and Haroldus strove on, valiantly, to keep the group alive.

They were succeeding, but would it be fast enough for Laric? The dragon's screams were echoing through the chamber. As long as the lich kept up his devastating spell, the healers' attempts had no effect. The loss of scales had crept up to Laric's wrists and ankles, and devoured a good chunk of his tail. The flesh underneath was beginning to pull away, exposing bone, again starting at the tips and working inward. There was no comprehension or intelligence in Laric's glowing blue eyes, only agony.

"Harder!" Grimmjow called again. Laric might be a kusojiji, but, gods damn it, he was _Grimmjow's_ shitty old man sensei. He flung explosive after explosive, chipping away at the lich. Then he switched to bala. _Frostfire_ bala. The combination of searing heat, glacial cold, and force had a devastating effect on the bone of the lich's armour. Huge chunks of white shattered and flew off.

Grimmjow grinned as he realized the efficacy of his attack. Mordanis was starting to look a bit worried. Vellena had pulled out Sanguiferrous, and Gorric was wielding a huge, evil-looking black blade. A runeblade, Grimmjow thought. Now the bone was really flying.

"No, this cannot be!" Mordanis shouted. "I am all-powerful! I cannot fall to rabble such as this!" He broke off the spell that had Laric twisting in pain, and the dragon slumped to the ground suddenly, unmoving. Mordanis snarled out several guttural words – Grimmjow understood them but didn't realize what was happening until a ring of black flared out from the lich, enveloping them all.

The air cleared suddenly and he could see again. The group renewed their assault. Mordanis fell, screaming out a denial which was suddenly cut off as Brosh smashed through his skull and proceeded to demolish every last bone of the lich. Without the power of arrancarized unlife to provide strength, the thick armour was simply brittle bone again.


	28. Don't Let Him Get Away!

"Orfeo! You idiot!" Kennana shouted, running forward. Grimmjow lowered himself to the ground, looking over to where she was running. The dwarf was on his back on the floor, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Dead. Grimmjow felt a brief stab of loss. Yeah, he wasn't close to the dwarf, but the guy was a friend.

Kenna was casting. Haroldus came over to look at her work.

"You are exhausted, Priestess. Leave off, lest the effort kill you too," the paladin said.

"No!" wailed Kenna. "I will _not_ let Orfeo go!"

"Zen at least let me help," Haroldus knelt beside the body of the dwarf. Golden light flowed from the both into the corpse.

"Brosh, are you alright?" Ilya called, joining her tauren lover.

"I am unwounded. Is there nothing you can do for Laric—Laricgos?" the huge shaman asked. Grimmjow walked over to where his sensei was bleeding on the floor. Ilya, upon hearing her lover's words, joined the arrancar.

"Laric, can you hear me?" Ilya asked. The dragon turned huge, pain-filled eyes at the draenei.

"Yes," Laric wheezed.

"I'm going to try to heal you. Hold still!"

"Wait," the wounded dragon gasped. And then he bellowed in pain as magic gathered in his wounded paws. His form shrunk suddenly, becoming human. Grimmjow stared. Laric was back in his human form, but his hands were flayed up to his wrists, and the ends of his fingers were nothing but exposed bone. Blood soaked through his boots and through his hemline.

"Hey old man, how's your ass feel?" Grimmjow asked, suddenly remembering the fact that Laric's tail had been flayed too. Despite his worry for his teacher, he couldn't resist getting in a jibe.

"Shut up you cat-brained lunatic!" Laric snapped. "Girl, I would be very grateful if you were to heal—,"

"Of course!" Ilya interrupted him, already concentrating the green nature power she would turn to mending him. Before Grimmjow's eyes, his sensei's wounds closed, flesh wrapping once more around bone and skin regrowing to cover flesh. A few more spells and Laric was fully healed, breathing a sigh of relief as he flexed his fingers experimentally.

"That sucked," the mage commented. Grimmjow gave a snort. Laric rounded on him. "And you, I expect a little more respect out of you. Your behaviour has been atrocious, apprentice—,"

"Stuff it, Laric," Grimmjow smirked. The mage gaped at him. "Do you really think I'm going to start bowing and scraping just because you turned out to be an overgrown set of luggage? Come _on_, kusojiji. You should know me better than that by now." Grimmjow rolled his cat-pupilled eyes at his teacher.

Laric grunted. "I suppose I should expect no less from you, Disappointment," he said. His words were harsh, but in his tone was grudging pride.

"Not half as disappointing as Johnny boy there," Grimmjow grinned, gesturing at the shattered fragments of Mordanis. "All his posturing and he ends up so much garbage to sweep up at the end of the day."

"That reminds me..." Laric trailed off, walking over to the scattered remains of the lich. Grimmjow watched as the mage picked through the remains, clearly looking for something.

"Grimmjow, are you injured?" Vellena's voice interrupted him. He turned his attention away from Laric to face his night elf.

"Not really. You?" he replied.

"I'm fine. A little battered but I'll make it." She looked to where Kenna and Haroldus still laboured to try to resurrect Orfeo. Gorric, Brosh, and Orzul were crouched nearby, watching the proceedings tensely. Vellena's face fell.

He wrapped a clawed hand around her shoulder, pulling her close to him. Her armour clanked against his scale robes, which were only slightly mangled by his transformation. (He was frankly glad that he'd put the hole in for his tail, or his ass would be only somewhat more comfortable than Laric's had doubtless been.)

"Don't worry. Kenna is good. She'll have him up and running around again soon enough," Grimmjow reassured her.

"She's exhausted, Grimmjow. They both are," Vellena said. She turned to Laric and Ilya, who had come to stand beside her and Grimmjow. The polymorphed dragon was carrying something large, flat, and blue. His father's scale. "Is there any way you can help them?" she asked.

"I am not nearly skilled enough to bring back the dead," Ilya said, sadly. "My magic is the wrong type to combine with theirs."

"Alas, my flight has no dominion over life and death. For that, you would have to speak with Alexstrasza's brood," Laric said, eyes sad, as he put the scale into a magic bag. "We must wait and see if Kenna and the paladin are successful."

"I hope we don't have to wait long. Aizen escaped back to his room – we need to kill him. Every second we lose is critica—," Grimmjow broke off suddenly as he caught sight of Orfeo's gauntleted hand twitching. "He's alive. They did it!" The arrancar said quickly, hope rising in his voice.

"Oh! Orfeo!" Kenna shouted. The dwarf twitched, sitting up. The night elf priestess leaned in, hands on her thighs. Haroldus gasped and flopped onto his back, clearly exhausted. Grimmjow could see sweat beading his homely face.

"Oy, Kenna, wot's the fuss about? An' didja have to rush it like that this time? I was _this_ close to bein' able ta touch her bubbies—," The dwarf's words were cut off by the sudden sound of Kenna's booted foot colliding with his plate-clad crotch. "Eh, wot was _that_ for?" Orfeo asked mildly, clearly unharmed.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" Kenna yelped, grabbing her foot and hopping around like a demented bunny rabbit. Grimmjow couldn't help himself. He snickered.

"I'm not healing zat," Haroldus said.

"Alright, seriously people, enough with the joking around. Mordanis is dead but Aizen is still on the loose. We need to kill him, and _fast,_" Grimmjow stated, getting everyone's attention. "We wasted too much time fighting each other under his illusion. Remember your damn earrings, that's why Laric and I slaved away for weeks making the damn things." If he had his druthers, he'd never make another fucking magic item in his life. That was the most boring, tedious shit he'd ever had to take part in. It made patrolling the halls of Las Noches look like a party in comparison. "Brosh, you say you got something for mind control?"

"Yes. Both Ilya and I have totems that will counter magic that steals the senses."

"Well, make sure you use them on this fight. But pretend like you're caught in the illusions. You should be able to see them over top of the reality. That way we might be able to surprise him," Grimmjow said. "Now let's move out, alright? We don't have a lot of time to lose." He turned, tail flicking.

"Eh, Grimmjow..." Orfeo began.

"What?" The arrancar quirked an impatient eyebrow at the recently revived dwarf.

"Wot's wit' tha tail?"

Grimmjow felt his ears flatten automatically and his tail lashed in annoyance. "We don't have time for this shit. Let's get moving." A female voice behind him snickered at his response, he thought it might be Brosh's girl. Grimmjow moved towards the doors he'd so recently knocked from their hinges. "Start running!" he ordered, as he began to tear down the hallway. The clanking of armour told him clearly that his team was following him.

Vellena and Gorric caught up with him, taking position on either side. He risked a glance behind and saw Orfeo keeping up the rear with the rest of the party in between. Signs of their recent efforts were stamped on the faces of all except the tireless death knights. Even Laric looked a little careworn. Well, the damage was repaired now, but what Mordanis had done couldn't have been comfortable. Grimmjow was pretty sure the lich had been attempting to transform Laric directly into a frostwyrm, skipping the inconvenient waiting-for-Laric-to-die-first.

It was fortunate that they'd managed to knock off Mordanis before the lich could succeed, or else they would have likely had to fight _Laric_ too. Grimmjow was pretty sure they could have done it, but the idea of having to destroy his own teacher was mildly distasteful. Which was really a testament to how much Azeroth, and Vellena, had changed him. Because, really, the old Grimmjow wouldn't have given a flying fuck about that.

The hallway was clear of undead. However, the corridor where they'd stopped pursuit previously was still blocked. There was enough space for maybe an agile human or smaller to crawl through (which is probably what Aizen had done), but it was not going to be passable for the group. The ex-Espada sighed. Now they'd have to undo their previous handiwork.

"Alright, anyone got any quick ways to knock down walls?" he asked the group.

Brosh cleared his throat and tossed down a totem. The barrier began to move, loose rocks falling down towards Grimmjow, who took a few steps back to avoid them. The arrancar quirked puzzled brows, until comprehension dawned suddenly as the form of an earth elemental tore itself from the stone. Oh right, Brosh had used that thing to help _make_ the wall in the first place.

Ponderously, the elemental freed itself and began smashing through the rest of the poorly-fused stone. Within 30 seconds there was enough of a passageway for the group to get through. Brosh gave the elemental a companionable slap on a shoulder stone, and the collection of rocks nodded and sank into the floor, dismissed.

Grimmjow muttered a thank-you to the tauren and then leapt through the ragged hole. There was nothing on the other side but the mostly-destroyed staircase. The undead had all gone elsewhere – perhaps still trying to find a way to the chamber where they had fought Mordanis. The group made its way down the shattered stone steps carefully, and then began to run one more once they reached the landing.

They retraced their steps, running down the corridors. Orzul used some technique to make them all run faster, which Grimmjow was grateful for. The hunter was also on alert for any sign of undead. Fortunately, they were able to make the run from the chess room to Aizen's personal rooms without disturbance.

Grimmjow smashed the door open once more. Aizen looked up from where he was seated on a stone couch, reading some book no doubt stolen from Dalaran.

"Ah, there you are, Grimmy-kun. I see Mordanis didn't hold you back for long," Aizen said, mildly. "That's disappointing."

"Sacrificed him to save your hide, did you, shinigami? Just like you did the Espada?" Grimmjow snapped.

"Why should that bother you, kitty? It's not like you cared overmuch for your erstwhile compatriots," Aizen said, standing. His zanpakutō was already in his hand, though it looked to be unreleased. He heard the sound of battle behind him and looked briefly to see his party suddenly fighting off Scourge from behind.

"I always knew you were stupid, Grimmjow. But I thought you would be smart enough to know not to come attack me after your last failure. I give you credence for seeing through my illusory 'death'... eventually. But for you to think that you _actually_ have a chance against me, here, like this, even with friends..." Aizen trailed off and tsked with mock dismay.

Grimmjow snarled and attacked, leaping at Aizen and slashing with his claws. They tore through air as the image of Aizen vanished. He growled in frustration.

Inside, Grimmjow was smiling. Because he'd _seen_ Aizen plant the illusion and get up and walk away. He'd seen well enough that Kyōka Suigetsu was fully released. And he knew that his crew was fighting illusory undead. As did they – Brosh and Ilya had their special totems out. As they had been instructed, the group was pretending to be hoodwinked by Aizen's illusions.

Grimmjow made a show of looking around for Aizen, and 'spotted' the fake with glee. He pretended to ignore the fact that the real one was far away, faking susceptibility to the illusions. Aizen was too far away from his illusion to be attacked directly. Going after the real Aizen would instantly alert him to the fact that Grimmjow wasn't fooled. And then he'd lose his advantage. Grimmjow _knew_ that sooner or later Aizen would try to make a potshot at him, he had only to wait until that moment, and then end this with one decisive blow.

Now that he was alert to it, Grimmjow could feel the suggestions Aizen was trying to implant in his mind. Aizen was trying to provoke him into attacking mindlessly, without thought for strategy. Grimmjow pretended to comply, leaping at the false Aizen with claws bared and a snarl on his face, and cursing viciously when the illusion dissipated. He made a show of looking around for the 'real' Aizen, and even of trying to scent his former master in the air. Aizen was pulling no stops – he'd even faked illusory scent. Grimmjow pretended to be torn between the false Aizen his eyes showed and the false Aizen his nose told him was there. Then he decided to go after the fake scent.

The room was a melee of bodies and spells. While Grimmjow tried to track multiple Aizens, real and imaginary, the shinigami was not idle. At one point he caught Vellena in a bakudō (number 61, by the looks of the beams of lights which froze her in position), and Gorric in a nasty Kurohitsugi. Well, if anyone could survive hadō 90, it was a death knight. Orzul was pinioned to the wall, spread eagle, by bars of blue light. The raptor was dead. Aizen had Laric boxed in a danku construction, where the dragon mage was trying to figure out a way out. Kenna had wandered too far from the totems and was whirling in a circle, swinging her staff to block illusory attackers. Brosh and Orfeo were tied up fighting fake Scourge, and Ilya and Haroldus were attempting to heal everyone from Aizen's spells.

Grimmjow closed again with another fake, and sent a cero at yet another. When that one dissipated, he launched at another, this time aware that Aizen was preparing to strike. The shinigami had neutralized the combatants he viewed as being the greatest threat. Laric would no doubt break out of the box soon, but in the meantime, if Aizen could kill Grimmjow, he could pick off the rest and then take out Laric easily. Grimmjow was pretty sure that was the shinigami's intended tactic.

One more foolish charge, and the arrancar was in range for Aizen to strike.


	29. All Crash Down

Grimmjow had prepared for this moment for a month. He'd practiced this next movement with Laric relentlessly. Despite the practice, it wasn't a move he'd ever be able to do in his sleep. It was simply too complex. Laric had informed him that the ability to cast two spells almost simultaneously was merely a matter of maintaining the proper presence of mind. Some mages never mastered it, but many did.

To cast three simultaneously was almost unheard of. Laric had brought up names that meant nothing to Grimmjow, like Aegwynn, Medivh, and Malygos, and told Grimmjow quite frankly that the ex-Espada would never manage it. Naturally, this only fueled Grimmjow's desire to do it. He had the power; it was the patience and concentration that were lacking.

Nevertheless, he'd convinced Laric to train him. The old coot had given in, giving his own demonstrations of the trick. Seeing Laric manage it had only convinced Grimmjow further that it wasn't as impossible as the old man claimed (of course that was before today, when he'd discovered that Laric was Malygos's _son_, which clarified a few things about the old bat). Finally, Grimmjow got the trick down. And then he'd drilled, with Laric tossing all kinds of shit at him, until he was pretty damn sure he could manage it under fire in the heat of battle. Grimmjow could only do the three spells, but they were just the spells he wanted for this.

It was easier in resurrección, when he had all this extra power available to him. Grimmjow struck the false image, giving a convincing snarl of frustration and turning his back to the real Aizen, who was not three paces behind him, making a show of looking around. As he expected, the shinigami stepped forward, blade in hand, ready to strike from behind. The arrancar knew his back would be too tempting a target to resist.

Three things happened at once, followed rapidly by a fourth. Grimmjow set his gambit into motion. Faster than any mortal could track (and hopefully faster than Aizen would expect and have the opportunity to investigate), Grimmjow cast three spells at once. Then the fourth action happened as Aizen's sword pierced Grimmjow's chest from behind, in what was fully intended to be a lethal strike.

Vellena screamed a denial, trapped as she was in the bakudō, completely unable to act. Grimmjow noted that she was quite far from the rest of the group, and fully immobilized. So far away from him right now. She watched as he sank to the ground on his knees, a surprised look on his face.

"You always were a fool, Grimmjow. I would have preferred keeping you alive to watch your _friends_ die. After all, who could have thought that a hollow could have friends?" Aizen smirked as Grimmjow fell forward.

Then the shinigami froze, eyes widened in slight surprise, as Kyōka Suigetsu was yanked from his grasp unexpectedly and flung across the room with enough force to bury the blade a foot and a half into solid stone. Then a clawed hand closed around his neck, squeezing.

Grimmjow had cast three spells, none of which were all that special on their own. Blink, invisibility, and mirror image. Just one mirror image. More than that would have clued Aizen in to the fact that something was a little 'off'.

"Unlike you, I'm no illusion master," Grimmjow whispered quietly. Then his face lit up with savage glee. "However I don't need to be a master. I only need to fool you _once_. _Desgarron!_"

Aizen chunks bounced to the floor. Grimmjow smirked, and then noted with some alarm the small, grey block that clunked from Aizen's severed hand. The Hōgyoku. No doubt Aizen had been about to do something seriously bad, which would have likely turned the tide of battle so completely out of Grimmjow's favour that the arrancar and his raiding party would have been better off committing mass suicide. If Grimmjow had taken just a second more to gloat, it wouldn't be Aizen lying dead.

With Aizen gone, the illusions and kidō vanished. Gorric was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, bleeding black blood from countless punctures. Vellena was freed, to sag to the ground with relief at seeing the real Grimmjow alive and well. Kenna stopped flailing. Orzul was on the ground next to his dead raptor, one three-fingered blue hand caressing the dinosaur's still jaw sadly. Orfeo and Brosh left off their 'pitched battle' with the imaginary undead. Laric was out of his box. Haroldus and Ilya were rapidly attempting to bring Gorric back to his feet.

They were exhausted and battered, but triumphant, the ten of them.

Vellena walked over to him, runesword in hand. She spotted the small grey box Grimmjow was staring at.

"Is that...?" she asked.

"Sure is," he replied.

Vellena stiffened. She considered the Hōgyoku for one long moment. Then she struck suddenly, unleashing massive amounts of runic power. Sanguiferrous screamed as though alive as it bit through stone and ... demon soul. The explosion of power knocked them _all_ on their asses, and obliterated a good part of Aizen's remains. That close to it, Grimmjow was badly scorched. So was Vellena. Orfeo looked to have died again, though Kenna immediately sprang to work trying to fix that, Haroldus lending his strength with a sigh. Gorric stood next to the night elf priestess, watching worriedly.

"That was kind of stupid, actually," the arrancar remarked.

"It needed to be done," Vellena replied simply.

"Death knight! Did you _have_ to do that? That was a valuable magic item that I could have studied for _years_..." Laric whined as he picked himself up. "Maybe even centuries."

"Yes, I had to do that," Vellena remarked mildly. "No telling what would have happened if it got into the wrong hands. Sorry Laric." Her tone was completely unapologetic. She clearly felt no obligation to bow or scrape to the blue dragon.

Grimmjow looked at Aizen's mangled corpse. Then he started to laugh. He kept right on laughing as Kenna downed a potion and managed to revive Orfeo once more. He laughed hysterically, until pretty much the entire group was staring at him like he'd lost his mind.

"What is it, Grimmjow?" Vellena asked.

"Oh," the arrancar gasped, catching his breath. "It just occurred to me. None of the shinigami know that Aizen is dead."

Vellena gave him an odd look, and then she thought about it. A few seconds later she started chuckling too.

"I don't get it," Gorric said, quirking heavy brows.

"It's _great_, Gorric. Aizen's dead and none of the shinigami know about it. They'll never have to worry about him again, but they're going to be spending the next fucking _century_ wondering when he's going to crawl out from under some rock and make life hell for them. Maybe even a _millennium,_" Grimmjow snickered. He had no love for Soul Society. The idea of those black-robed morons jumping at every shadow for the next few hundred years pleased him immensely.

Vellena snickered a bit more, then huffed a tired breath and examined her runeblade's edge. Grimmjow realized suddenly that she was using _Sanguiferrous_. That thing had _killed _him.

"Vel," he started, giving the sword a pointed look. "Is that a good idea?"

"Oh," she said casually. "It's stopped trying to take over ever since I killed you. All I have to do is glance your way and it backs right off," she smiled.

"Well, if _that's_ all it took..." Grimmjow smirked.

"Oh fuck you." She gave him a glare like she could barely believe he could even _joke_ about that. He grinned back at her. She started it.

"I hate to interrupt your tender moment, but the rest of us are healed up. Shouldn't we be going to kill the Lich King?" Brosh interjected.

"Uh..." Grimmjow realized they probably _should_. Aizen was dead, which took a load of _his_ mind, but Arthas was still around. And he kind of owed that bitch one, didn't he?

"I still can't get a garganta going. Or a death gate," Vellena said, stashing Sanguiferrous in one of her bags.

"Me neither," Grimmjow said after a moment. "No portals either. Let's hope we can use the Scourge teleporters, or it's going to be one long-ass run up to the spire," he remarked drily. "Let's hoof it," he smirked at Brosh, who rolled his eyes.

"Grimmjow, if you weren't my friend..." the tauren sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, let's get going."

Yet again, they raced down the dark and oppressive corridors, following Grimmjow's lead and shouted commands. Several times they encountered small pockets of undead, which they fought swiftly and vanquished, despite their growing fatigue.

They rounded another corner, weapons out and ready to fight the pack of Scourge that Orzul had indicated would be nearby. The two groups spotted each other and charged, ready to clash. And then the whole citadel shook, as though from an earthquake. Once more, everyone was knocked from their feet, including the undead. The living assailants recovered first, slaughtering the unresisting undead.

"Everyone alive?" Grimmjow turned, asking the group, as yet another tremor shook the building. He looked at Orfeo pointedly, who gave him a slightly insulted look back.

"Aye," muttered the dwarf.

Grimmjow's eyes slid over to Vellena, and he suddenly felt worried. She was staring off into space in an odd way. He quickly took stock of the entire group. Everyone else looked to be ok, except for Gorric, who was also looking just as out to lunch.

"Hey Vel, Gorric, snap out of it. We gotta run," Grimmjow said. At his words, Vellena blinked, and Gorric drew in a visible breath. The two death knights looked at each other.

"Did you feel..." Vellena began.

"Yes," Gorric stated.

"Could we be mistaken?" asked the dead elf.

"Hey, what are you two talking about? We gotta go!" Grimmjow insisted.

"Maybe not," Gorric said, turning his attention to Grimmjow. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?" Grimmjow asked, puzzled.

"Did _you _feel that?" Vellena asked Laric. The mage blinked, looking perplexed. At the polymorphed dragon's bemused expression, she clarified. "When the first shake happened."

"I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, girl," the mage said.

"It's Arthas," Gorric said.

"He's gone," Vellena continued for him.

Everyone stared at the two death knights.

"Grimmjow, you don't feel it? He was always there, trying to break his way back into my mind, except for when I was in Hueco Mundo. Now he's completely gone again," she said. They all braced as there was another brief tremor.

"He left me alone after he thought I was dead, remember?" Grimmjow reminded her.

"Do you mean to tell me that the Lich King is dead?" Laric interrupted.

Grimmjow considered the last pack of undead they had just dispatched. Come to think of it, there'd been a distinct lack of resistance from them. They'd just kind of stood there and died.

"Oh! Could it be?" Kenna openly breathed the hope that was on everyone's face.

The ground shook again, and a chunk of masonry crashed from the high ceiling to the ground nearby.

"Yeah," said Gorric, "I think he's dead. I think maybe we better think about getting out of this place. Fast."

"Uhm..." Grimmjow chewed his bottom lip. He tried garganta. Nope, still no go. "Well, we better get to that teleporter _quick_ then, because if these shakes keep up we'll end up flattened under falling rock. Let's get to safety and figure out whether Arthas is still alive _then_." He said. The others nodded. Yet again, they ran down the halls of the citadel.

The teleporter wasn't that far away. They arrived at the room, lit by the ghostly green glow of the teleporter, and fanned out around Grimmjow.

"Good, it's still active," the arrancar said.

"How does it work?" Haroldus asked, giving the green glowing platform a look of distrust.

"We step on it and someone activates it," Grimmjow replied.

"Eh, don't we need a Scourge beastie to do tha'?" Orfeo asked.

"I can do it. I remember how," Grimmjow said. The members of the group who hadn't been a privy to the fact that Grimmjow had (briefly) been part of the Scourge looked at him in confusion. "Well don't all just stand around there looking stupid; get on the damn thing!" The blue-headed man barked.

Everyone crowded into the bright green centre of the platform. Once they were all there, Grimmjow closed his eyes and concentrated, remembering how it worked. The world lurched around them. He opened his eyes to another teleporter chamber.

"Naxxramas?" Vellena asked with puzzlement, looking around.

Grimmjow shrugged. "It seemed as good a place as any. We should be able to garganta to Shadow Vault from here."

"Or death gate," Vellena said. She closed her eyes, summoning the bone frame, which rose obediently from the ground. The raiding party went through it one-by-one, disappearing into the shadowy portal.

They rematerialized in Shadow Vault, which was milling with activity. Gargoyles were swooping in and out through the huge entrance, bearing messages. People of all races and factions were running about. The exhausted assault team could hear a sound swelling outside, gaining in volume. Cheering. Cheering from thousands of throats.

The Lich King had fallen.


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at last... the final chapter. I don't intend to write any more about Grimmjow in Azeroth, but you can probably imagine that he continued to wreak havoc and have fun.

"Quit fidgeting or you'll scuff your armour," Vellena commented crossly.

"Not bloody likely. Laric enchanted the shit outta this stuff. It's supposed to be scuff proof. Well, short of someone coming at me with Frostmourne," Grimmjow replied, trying to stand patiently while the night elf adjusted some detail of his outfit. She was already in her best plate, which had been polished until it gleamed. Only her head was uncovered; and her dusky green hair had been trimmed to shoulder length once more and was neatly brushed. Grimmjow's hair stood in all directions, as usual. But he'd cut it, at least. It had gotten long in the months since he'd arrived in Azeroth.

"Lucky for you Frostmourne is broken," she said. Grimmjow snorted at this, and she straightened up. "We'd better hurry to Runeweaver Square, or we'll miss the unveiling."

"Right. _Why_ are we doing this again?" Grimmjow asked rhetorically. He knew damn well why they were doing this. He just didn't want to do it.

"Because we've been specifically asked to be there. By both Lord Tirion Fordring and Highlord Darion Mograine," Vellena sighed. Grimmjow grinned at her reaction. She gave him a little shove. "Get a move on."

"Hey, watch the armour! Don't scuff it," Grimmjow smirked.

"Oh shut up and go," Grimmjow laughed at her exasperated tone, but he stepped out of their inn room ahead of her and started down the stairs. Vellena followed behind him.

The square wasn't all that far away, but the place was _packed_. Grimmjow found himself actually hoping that Laric was right about the armour being scuff-proof as they attempted to wind, slip, and shove their way through the crowd. Fortunately, they were spotted by one of the remaining Ebon Blade rankers, who quickly escorted the two to the area where the faction dignitaries were waiting.

There weren't all that many people there at the Ebon Blade's area. A large number of death knights had died. Oh, they hadn't _all_ been killed in that last battle against the Scourge. No, instead, the Lich King's death had taken something out of many of them. With Arthas gone, their sworn purpose of killing him vanished, and thus their reason to exist. A significant number of death knights had just lain down and let go of unlife, just like that. Not all of them, naturally, but certainly a larger proportion than Grimmjow would have expected.

Vellena stayed. Grimmjow had been silently, secretly, very relieved. His lover showed no inclination of wanting to roll over and die.

"There you two are. I was wondering if you were going to show up or not," Gorric addressed them, coming to stand with them. Gorric, too, had not gone anywhere. Grimmjow was glad.

"You know how women are," Grimmjow smirked to Gorric, who nodded sagely. This earned them both a death glare from Vellena.

"Where's Kenna and the rest of them?" Vellena finally asked.

"I think they're with the Dalaran contingent. Have you seen Laric at all?" Gorric responded.

"Nope, no sign of the old bastard anywhere," Grimmjow said. "I was going to ask you."

"Haven't seen hide nor scale of him," Gorric affirmed.

"It's starting," Vellena said. And so it was. Grimmjow noted several mages who he was privately certain were members of the Council of Six standing on the wooden dais near the veiled statue. Mograine and Fordring were beside them, as were Thrall and King Wrynn. There were a number of leaders and dignitaries that Grimmjow couldn't name up there too.

"Ah, apprentice, there you are!" a voice said from behind them. Grimmjow turned his head to see Laric arriving to stand next to him. The grey-haired mage was huffing and out of breath, as though he'd been running or something.

"What do you _mean_, 'there you are?' _You're_ the one who's late. And don't call me that, luggage," Grimmjow said.

"Don't call me that, furball!"

"Whatever, new boots."

Laric sputtered. Then he pointed. "Hey look, there's Krasus arriving late. See? I'm not the only one," Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

"What kept you?" Grimmjow demanded.

"If you _must_ know, Alexstrasza wanted to have a talk with me," Laric's tone was smug and a little self righteous.

"Oh _really_? What did she want with _you_?" Grimmjow snorted.

"Actually..." Laric looked suddenly less sure of himself. "_ShewantsmetotakeMalygos'splaceasthestewardofmagic,_" he coughed out, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Grimmjow twitched, staring at the mage. He wasn't the only one. Gorric and Vellena were completely ignoring the speeches being made in favour of eyeing Laric like he was about to explode.

"_What?_" the arrancar yelled, a lot louder than he intended.

"_SHHHH!_" Laric hissed loudly. Grimmjow jerked, looking around. A few people were staring at him, as his outburst had been loud enough to carry to parts of the crowd. He glowered and people lost interest.

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me. _You_?" Grimmjow scoffed.

"Well, _yes_, me," Laric huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "I _am_ one of the only surviving offspring of Malygos and Sindragosa, after all. So mind your manners, or I'll turn you into a penguin."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. Laric? Steward of Magic? He wondered how long it would take for the mage to goof that up. Actually, maybe that was uncharitable. Laric was a bit of a twerp, but he _was_ a highly skilled magic user. Grimmjow could admit to himself how lucky he was to have encountered the old freak and had the opportunity to learn from him, but he wasn't about to admit that to _Laric_.

Vellena cleared her throat audibly and glared at them both. "Enough, you two. I think we're about to get called up."

Sure enough, Thassarian and Koltira were approaching them quickly. The two death knights stopped in front of Grimmjow and his friends.

"Ah, Sir Jaegerjaquez, Dame Nightwind, Sir Bloodaxe. There you are. Please, accompany us to the dais," Koltira requested, formally. Vellena gave a brief nod, and they followed the two commanders. Laric came too, for 'moral support,' as he put it.

Minutes later, he was kneeling in front of a cheering crowd at the feet of Mograine, while the highlord draped a medal over his head and pronounced him a Champion of the Ebon Blade, along with Vellena and Gorric. Grimmjow felt vaguely stunned. Despite his cavalier and irrelevant attitude leading up to this, he was actually deeply flattered and a little thrilled by this. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, getting medals and hailed as a hero. If only the shinigami could see him now. They'd piss themselves.

But the accolades weren't over. Krasus stepped forward, reading a missive from Alexstrasza, declaring that the ten who had destroyed the threat Aizen represented henceforth be known as Defenders of Life. Grimmjow struggled _hard_ to keep from howling with laughter at that. Even Vellena and Gorric looked a bit amused at the irony. Laric had thrown Krasus a surprised look. Grimmjow may have been the only other person that caught the other mage's wink.

They went back down to where they had been waiting before, and found several familiar faces.

"Orfeo Firehammer, Defender o'Life! I like tha sound o'that one," Orfeo was saying, puffing up his chest and looking self important. Beside him, Kennana was grinning like a loon, holding up her medal and examining it. Catching sight of the approaching quartet, she jumped up and down excitedly.

"Look, Gorric, we all got medals too!" she said. The orc grinned at her, tusked mouth wide.

"I see that Kenna."

"Defender of Life. It's a title I'll bear with pride," Brosh murmured. Beside him, Ilyanaya nodded.

Grimmjow grinned at the assembled group. They were all there, even Orzul, who was attempting to keep what looked like a see-through blue sabre cat cub from squirming out of his grasp.

"So when's the party begin?" the arrancar asked.

"Wait for ze unveiling at least," Haroldus said, looking mildly disapproving at the ex-Espada's eagerness to skip the formality and get straight to the ruckus.

"You won't have to wait long. Look," Laric said, pointing. Those who had managed to survive the fight against the Lich King had just been honored, and the cloth was being pulled from the statue to the riotous sounds of cheering in the square.

"That's _it_? I'm not even on it!" Grimmjow scoffed, getting a good look at the statue for the first time.

'Honestly I would have thought you'd prefer it that way," Laric commented.

"Why would you say that?" Grimmjow gave him a sidelong glance.

"Well, you're probably going to have a hard enough time finding opponents brave enough to face you in the pit without tacking 'Kingslayer' after your name and having _your_ ugly face preserved forever in stone in the middle of Dalaran," Laric snorted.

"Hey, I'm not as ugly as you," Grimmjow protested, but he considered it. Laric was probably right. Damn, the titles he _got_ were probably going to scare off opponents. And that other title, Kingslayer, came with a price he wasn't sure he wanted to pay. They'd all heard what happened up on that spire. Everyone had died. Granted, most of them had been brought back to life, but not all of them. Grimmjow already had one second chance. He knew he wasn't guaranteed another. Especially as he suspected he'd done what the spirit healer wanted when he'd killed Aizen.

It turned into quite the party. Wherever Grimmjow and his friends went that night, they were fêted and celebrated, treated to free drinks and food and even given gifts. The arrancar had to admit it was pretty fucking awesome. Maybe, just maybe, he could begin to understand a little of the appeal of being one of the 'good guys.' Grimmjow hadn't done it for the accolades; he'd done it because it needed to be done and Aizen was a bastard. But the accolades were kind of cool.

Everyone was having a blast. He and Vellena danced, which was comical in and of itself. He'd never learned to dance, and if Vellena had learned, it had clearly been before she died. But they had fun, and he enjoyed the feel of his night elf against him (at least after he'd persuaded her it was ok to go back to the inn and get out of the armour).

At some point he'd lost track of most of their friends, though he spotted Orfeo with a huge stein of beer in one hand and a dwarven maiden in the other, sitting on his knee. He was clearly bragging, and the girl was just as clearly impressed with the dwarf's bluster. Grimmjow caught a sight of Kenna leading Gorric up the stairs at the Legerdemain, too. Brosh and Ilya had vanished completely, as had Haroldus (old square probably couldn't appreciate a party), but later on in the night Grimmjow thought he saw Orzul dancing extensively with some unfamiliar night elf who the troll clearly seemed to have some prior acquaintance with.

He sat at a wooden picnic table with a decent beer, Vellena at his side, casually watching people dancing. The bench squeaked as a body sat itself next to him. Grimmjow grunted a greeting at Laric.

"So what are you going to do now?" the mage asked.

"Get sloshed and find out if arrancar get hangovers," Grimmjow stated bluntly. Vellena snorted a laugh, waving a greeting to the blue dragon.

"No, I mean now that Arthas and Aizen are dead."

"Fucked if I know," Grimmjow wasn't too concerned. He downed the beer and slammed the glass mug on the wooden table. Within seconds a svelte high elf barmaid sashayed over and replaced it with another full stein. She gave Laric an inquiring glance, and the mage shook his head. Satisfied, she walked away.

"Do either of you have plans?" Laric asked.

"Huh?" Grimmjow looked at his sensei. Even Vellena gave him a puzzled glance. "What have you got in mind, old man?"

"Well you might have heard some rumours about Deathwing coming back..." Laric said. Vellena's eyes widened. Grimmjow didn't react. He'd heard people mention the name but didn't really know what they were talking about.

"The rumours are true?" Vellena asked.

"It's worse than we thought. The situation at Wyrmrest Temple is fragmenting rapidly; the Wyrmrest Accord is crumbling as we speak. I told you what Alexstrasza asked me to do. I didn't tell you all of her reasons. With Malygos gone, Deathwing has apparently got his eyes on my father's portfolio. The Lich King might be dead, but Azeroth's problems are far from over," Laric said, quietly.

"Deathwing, isn't he a dragon?" Grimmjow asked.

"He's an Aspect," Laric replied.

"That's a dragon, right?"

Both Vellena and Laric gave him flat looks. "Yes, Grimmjow. An Aspect is a dragon," Laric said, slowly, slightly insultingly. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Yeah, I'll help you kill 'im," Grimmjow said. Vellena looked a little doubtful for a moment, but she nodded wordlessly. He felt a surge of warmth at that. Whatever he was going to do, he knew he'd be doing it with Vellena.

Laric snorted at Grimmjow's cavalier attitude. "He's no pushover."

"It's what you wanted to ask me, though, right? I'll help you," Grimmjow repeated.

"Yeah, it's what I was going to ask you."

"Don't worry, Laric, with me on your side, you can't lose," Grimmjow assured him. "This Deathwing better watch out. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Defender of Life, is coming for his ass." He took a swig of his beer and grinned. "Heh, I kind of like the sound of that."


End file.
